Alacar Concupiscentia
by Doughnut of Ericks
Summary: If a tale was woven with apparent concupiscnece and passions between man and his Eve, amorous tragedies will wither in envy, finding no comparison to the love affair of Mister Malfoy and his ward, the beloved Hermione Granger. *completed*
1. To Our Beginning

Read Me - Disclamer: These characters (the lovely Hermione and the devilishly good looking Draco) do not belong to me, but the ingenius J. K. Rowlings and persistant Warner Brothers Company, only because WB will sue me (for the love of the moon goddess Selene, the sue "innocent" children) for not insisting this disclaimer is placed, informing everybody (who already knows Harry Potter is a trademark of Warner Brothers), that HP certainly does. Even though the real owner of this book series belongs to the true sorceress of words J.K Rowlings. But all the other crappy stuff belongs to me! Enjoy and don't sue.  
  
Chapter One: To Our Beginning  
  
H.G. POV -  
The night was a fierce monster, with the staggering blows of the wind against my fair, warn out expression. Beyond me, was a grand mansion, of a gothic manner with no trace of light except for the third window on the second story.  
  
My legs encourage my walk to the manor of no lights and warmth, however the eerie phantoms dissuade my judgement. Still I walked. Until I reached the intricate mahongany doorways - with wooden carvings of the unknown age of dragons and a latin engraving "draconis" - I stood silently still, until my numb hands got a bland feeling and knocked persistant taps.  
  
In a few seconds, a old man dressed in black robes and a stern, but fatherly expression was on his kind face, opened the door, persumingly he was the butler. "Hello, who may I ask is at the door, miss. And what business do you have with Mr. Malfoy."  
  
With a nervous shudder, I replied. "I am the new au pair for a Miss Elizabeth Malfoy. My name is Hermione Amelia Minaette Victoria Granger, but you can called me Hermione." I raised my hand to offer a friendly handshake, and there he took it, with a faint smile.  
  
"Well, Miss Granger. Nice to meet you, I am Edward Wellington, the butler of a kind Mr. Draco James Malfoy." A finely shaped eyebrow rose as I heard the words "kind," "Draco," and "Malfoy" in the same sentence.  
  
In an instant, I grew to love this man as a grandfather I never knew, and we were in an animated discussion about the newest novel "The Inner Mind of The Sorceress Mirgana" published a few days before this following one, that was an instant success.  
  
Written by a true sorceress with words, Virginia Weasley Longbottom (A year after the late Mrs.Longbottom graduated, the absent-minded wizard proposed to the eccentric writer and was now happily married with a third addition on the way).  
  
As we reached the destination, my renewed grandfather came to a strange mute, tapping the door firmly. A mumbled "Come in" was heard and in we went to meet my new employer and childhood enemy, Draco Malfoy.  
  
"Sir, it is Miss Hermione Amelia Minaette Victoria Granger for Miss Elizabeth." I gave him a shocked and bemused face as he tiredlessly teased in front of his dear dragon, and "accidently" stepped on his foot "lightly".  
  
Holding a supressed shout, but still his face showed pain, until I felt my conscience and love for this man arising. Without a thought of who was in company, I apologized.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Grandfather, I didn't mean too. I was a little upset you had to say my entire name, which was embarresing to me however, to Malfoy here. You could have at least excluded the Minaette Victoria part, how is anybody supposed to know my grandmother is a Latina. I'm still so very sorry, do you need some ice for your foot?"  
  
Then reality hit me, and a faint blush crept on my cheeks as I faced a very amused and suprised Malfoy, showing no glare or resentment, almost look innocently handsome.  
  
With his slicked blond hair with a few tresses stubbornly sticking out and his pouty crimson lips, and his wardrobe containing only the aristocratic best as if he came from the 1913's, Draco Malfoy made Witch Weekly's Top Ten List for Hottest Eligable Bachelor, Young and Devilishly Handsome every week (I was looking though, I only sought out the weekly short romance stories made by Ginny. Okay, maybe I wanted to know who was on the list, too), followed by Harry Potter and the fine retired Quidditch captain, Oliver Wood.  
  
D.M. POV -  
Also with an eyebrown raised, I spoke. "I knew from the moment I hired you that Malfoy Manor will never be the same, I don't know if it would be for the good. It certainaly will be louder. I could see it know, your infernal screams and complains of how you want the house elves to fight for their freedom when it obviously states they like working."  
  
Was I flirting with her? The Mud- I stopped, I promised I will never be like the killer I called my father. The Muggleborn girlfriend of Scarface? Maybe some things don't change. Judging from that hidden scowl, she wasn't pleased at all. "You are right, Malfoy Manor won't be the same. There will be laughter instead of the screams of your victims, Malfoy." Ouch. In that one sentence, it surely hurt me the most when I know that people think I'm exactly like my blasted father, when I am my own person. Even now I would have thought Hermione Granger, Hogwart's best witch of all ages, knew not to judge a book by its cover, pardon the pun. One. Two. Three. The petite chestnut haired witch covered her mouth with her delicate hand and gasped. Then I spoke.  
  
"Being my employee, you are required respective manners to me, as I am your boss. I demand respect even if I have to tame a shrew like you, Miss Granger."  
  
My chair was now an empty seat, as I rose to face the shocked Hermione, smaller and smaller the distance between us went, until we were mere centimeters away. My lips came to her ear, as I caught a heavenly scent of white gardanias and peach blossoms, no one woman that I have been with, could have smelled so wonderful, so addicting I could have stayed forever.  
  
"Somehow I will tame the shrew in you, Granger." And I smile in utter amusement and suprisingly for me, satisfaction, as I saw her shiver at my touch. "So what am I to call you? Malfoy? Mr. Malfoy?" This should be interesting. "Master Draco."  
  
"What?!? Am I supposed to call you Master Draco? Do you want me to commit suicide?" Before I knew it, she was against my finely painted wall of a forest green, both of my arms trapping her, with a look of sheer innocence and fear, exactly like a little rabbit cornered by the dominating viper.  
  
"Say it or I'll never let you go and a Malfoy always keeps his promise." Still her lips were kept tight, very kissable lips at that. Then silently and deadly, I lightly trailed my lips against her soft skin, sending yet another irresistable shiver down her spine. With her eyes close, Granger looked like she was enjoying this. Was I? Certainly. Just before my lips were upon hers, I asked once again, "How do you address me?"  
  
H.G. POV -  
My breathing went rather heavy, as I felt Malfoy's soft cherry lips against my alabaster skin, sprinkled with scarce freckles. After my heart missed a beat, I spoke with a present stutter. "Malfoy."  
  
I still had my pride and needed to save my reputation for the time being. Big mistake that was. Suddenly I felt his lips upon mine, with a fiery passion of a man's thirst from a journey across the many dunes of sand. Almost as if he needed this kiss, and my knees grew weak at the thought of any man needing me, especially Dra- Malfoy. The tongue explored unknown regions of my mouth, as I gave a moan of pleasure and I could feel his mouth turning into a smile. I was enjoying this greatly, but I didn't want my new employer to know.  
  
A thought came through my head: this was wrong, very wrong. It drove me to part the kiss, disappointed as I was. From the expression on the seducive dragon's face, he too, was disappointed on the lighter sense.  
  
Afraid of the consequences of the kiss, I started my way to the door, as if I was walking away from fear and the warmth I felt when our lips met and the feeling of content. I was afraid and I knew it was something I waited for all my life: l-o-v-e.  
  
At this I dare not speak the word and banish from my mind. Thinking it was attraction and lust, I started my leave, until I felt gentle arms surrounding my narrow waist and the warmth of his body along next to mine.  
  
His lovely lips caressing my ear again, whispering. "Are you to apologize your rudeness and disrepect towards me and call me Master Draco?" His voice a pleading child, yet my pride was a determined spirit, unwilling to anything and I knew that this would create trouble for me.  
  
"Never." I replied. "Why should I deny anything if the words coming from my lips are true? I'll never surrender to lies, Malfoy."  
  
With another wince soming from the dragon, he whispered in a rather husky and seducing manner that made me almost render to his wishes, almost.  
  
"Too bad. ::nibbling playfully on my ear, sending chills and shiver and gaining a smile from Malfoy:: You must pay the consequences. Next Sunday, go to the master bedroom on the third corridor with the emblem of a silver dragon at midnight. Don't. Wear. Anything." Shocked and greatly terrified, I tried to speak or yell or anything that might stop this insanity, but he placed a finger upon my lips, silencing me, however my eyes couldn't stop showing my expression: worry, lust, fear, pain, remembering old memories that turned to nightmares, and surpisingly, the want of this riducules sensation.  
  
"No, my little, shrewish rabbit. No objections. This is a lesson to tame that spirit and render to the dragon. Sweet dreams, my little Latina conejo." With a sugary kiss on my forehead, I could feel a half smile on my lips, at the sight of Malfoy speaking sweet words in the most romantic language in the world, to me that is and this damn feeling of reassurance.  
  
As Malfoy brushed pass me, I only could stand there, with no feeling in my legs, but warm, floaty tingles daring to cross the unknown regions of my soul.  
Why did this obsession with lust suddenly come to me when I needed it the most to not be there? To many years of reading Ginny's work with oversized pajamas and chocolate that I pretended a lover has given to me on cold rainy nights? Or is it, too many years of being alone? At twenty?  
  
And there in Malfoy's study room, a tear dared to fall across my porceline face since the fateful night 9 years ago.  
  
***  
  
H.G. POV -  
After a night of crying myself to sleep, a night of reminscing forgotten painful memories and the confusion arising between the dragon and rabbit, I awoke to the seething brightness of the morning sun. "Bloody sun."  
  
The next thing shocked me to the farthest extent. A pair of emerald eyes, innocent and lively as the warm grass covered with tiny chystals of dew, stared back with curiousity.  
  
As I painfully fell off my bed, I could hear musical laughter fill my room. "You are silly. Are you my new nanny? You really are pretty. Prettier than all the other old ladies and that Park-N-Yuck lady that always comes to Dracie's house."  
  
This little gift from heaven scrunched her nose at the mention of this "Park-N-Yuck." I was terrified of this eccentric child, as I watched her bounce up and down on my poor misplace bed.  
  
Never in my life have I pictured myself in the childcare of a child, but now I am stuck with her. She was an adorable picture to look at, with a long mane of a snowy gold hair, almost white, but not quite, another trade mark of a Malfoy. And her eyes was something of blunder to me, it was exactly like Harry's. Beautifully green.  
  
Just like Grandfather Ed, I instantly loved this girl, until she played a innocent prank, reminding me of the Weasley Twins: Gred and Feorge.  
  
Miss Elizabeth took my precious bunny slippers that Harry gave me. Those were my favorite possesion because, of course, they were given by someone who I dearly loved. A blush crept to my cheeks and started to chase after the little Elle who stolen my bunnies.  
  
"Elle! Elle! You give me back my bunnies! Those were from Harry! Elle!" Like Malfoy said, the Manor was filled with my desperate shouts and her continuing laughs.  
  
The maids, who were in the rank a little higher than house elves, just gave a small laugh and continued working, thinking about a young maiden that will change this place forever. "Elle! You come back here and give me those slippers. I'll give you a chocolate frog! Elle!"  
  
Finally, I drew my wand - willow, 9 and 1/2 inches, swishy, good for transfiguration - and did the extreme. My wigardium leviosa, sending the giggling girl flying with the fuzzy pink bunnies towards me, until Malfoy got in the way, looking stupidly sexy with his trousled bed head, getting knocked down in the process with this little girl in her arms.  
  
"Ellie. What did I tell you about flying in the corridors?" he said in the utmost kindness of voices. Daring to walk up to the tumbling terrors, persuaded by the fatherly expression on the dragon's face and love in his voice, I hovered over Malfoy and the little angel he called his "baby" sister.  
  
"And what did I tell you about hovering my baby sister in the corridors, little lady?" I tried to stiffle my laugh from Malfoy's joke. But all else failed and I laughed. So the cold hearted snake has a sense of humor and a heart? With his hair laid on the floor in the form of a gold halo, I asked him if he needed help on getting up, with a nervous voice, from doing a nice thing to a Malfoy. Another big mistake.  
  
When he grabbed me hand, I was pulled forward towards the idiot pile, lying on top of the dragon with his sister on the side. There I witnessed a true laugh from Draco, it was a baritone musical that filled the whole room with his glow. I came to one conclusion.  
  
Draco James Malfoy was the most handsome wizard I have ever known and he was indeed a human.  
  
Handing my bunnies to me, Elle, a nickname I dubbed for her this morning, smiled and truely she was her brother's sister. "I think this is yours. It's so precious to you 'cause it's from your boyfriend, that Harry guy. I hope he is at least cute."  
  
The ten year old naive minded girl stood and dusted off her pink nightgown, which I should add, made her years younger. And then there I grew to hate Malfoy once again.  
  
D.M. POV -  
At Scarface's name, I ended my laughter and gritted my pearly whites with a growing anger inside my heart.  
  
"So that's why you cared so much about those stupid slippers that you even risked my sister's safety, because its from Scarface. I knew he is rich and famous, but I didn't know you were that desperate." I spat at her with a cold tone.  
  
Why was I itching to wring Potter's stupid neck until he promises to leave Hermione alone? Hermione? Did I call the Potter's girlfriend Hermione? Why did I feel so infuriated that those damn slippers were so important to her? These questions continuingly cascaded down my head, as I could only place one thought in my head: Potter. Potter. And Hermione. Hermione? I needed to leave, anything to escape the now red face of a Miss Hermione Granger, as she raised a hand to slap me. Reflexes were the outcome of the beatings from my retched father, and I used my quick reflexes to catch her tiny wrist in mid air.  
  
"Don't you dare slap me. I am not that scrawny twelve year old boy anymore, I grew up. I am your master and you shall respect me. That's why you are in the current state you are now. You need money, but I expect a job well done. You get another punishment. For the week I am gone, you are to work for Pansy Parkinson. She is visting the Manor to see that everything is in top shape. Got it? Every order you shall obey her."  
  
The several winces she displayed and the horror stricken face almost made me regret the cruel actions I order to her. But in my current state, she was the one root that created all this intensity and I needed to blame something, anything, for these foreign emotions I felt.  
  
I was confused. Walking away, I suddenly stopped when the realization hit me. Was I jealous of Potter?  
  
H.G. POV -  
Damn him. Damn Malfoy! When I started to think Malfoy was human, he had to prove himself wrong and acted like a Malfoy.  
  
They are all the same, filthy reach and immensly cold-hearted, and blond of course. A hand laid on my shoulder and I turned around to see a tearful Elle.  
  
"I'm sorry for all the trouble I cause. Dracie isn't bad, he is just jealous and let's his anger overwhelm him. Sometimes when I see his scars, I feel like crying. My brother is just lonely. He needs someone to love him!" Facing her face to face, I hugged her contently and my anger gradually subsided and turned into mother mode.  
  
"Doesn't he have you to love him?" Stubbornly she shook her head, the blond tresses flying everywhere. "No, he needs a different kind of love. You know I have an idea. Why don't you love him? You are pretty and nice and you made him laugh, not like that Park-N-Yuck witch!"  
  
I stared at her with a disbelieving look. "Listen to me, sweety. I don't think I can love your brother, I'm too mad at him right now. Even if I did love Draco, your brother would never let anyone love him. And it's not you fault, I understand. Now why don't you go to your room and get ready for breakfast." With a teary smile, she stalked away, leaving me with a head full of questions.  
  
Why did Malfoy get as angry and sarcastically cold as he was? Was he really jealous? Of what, or better yet, of who? Was Malfoy jealous of Harry because of me?  
  
At my question, I blushed a crimson red, with my freckles turning a brighter shade. It couldn't be, could it?  
  
I walked away from this incident a new person, confused and the pink bunny slippers in hand, that created so much tears. Once I reached my room, I slid on the door and cried, cried for Elle, cried for Malfoy, cried for Harry, and most of all I cried because I was scared of these feelings that turned me into a confused, wandering child, instead of my regular know-it- all self, the someone who knew the answers to every questions.  
  
But who would know anything in the field of emotions, certainly not me. Across the room, I spotted a parchment and an automatic inked quill (the newest invention of the amazing Weasley twins, except this was just a brilliant device and not a childish prank) and started to write to Harry.  
  
Letters to Harry consisted of lies I made up to reassure everyone that my life in Malfoy Manor was everything we expected it to be, when it was quite the opposite. With a Draco-free week, I would forget about him and go back to the know-it-all I once knew. I didn't know it would be quite the opposite.  
  
***  
  
H.G. POV -  
A week passed. The longest, most horrid week in my life, where I experienced more pain than I have ever lived through in my 20 years.  
  
As the daybreak pass, when the moon shines brightly on my windowsill, and the night was a blanket of sapphire blue tinted with tiny diamonds of stars, this was my resting time. Time for tears and healing my bruises and scars.  
  
One thought kept my alive through all this. "This is just for one week."  
  
The next morning, I expected Park-N-Slut's morning shriek, waking me up for yet another pain-staking day of labor and punishments. When I realized I was comfortably in my old bedroom, and not in some grungy dungeon which I inhabitated for the past week, and another thought came to my mind.  
  
"This must be some plan of Parkinson. So when Malfoy comes, he won't suspect anything. Like I even care if he is concerned." However I knew this was a plain lie, I wished that my dragon in shining armor would rescue me from this monster of a woman and cradle me in his arms, like the many times he did before.  
  
Wasn't that all an act to humiliate me like all Slytherins have done many times before? But I couldn't conclude to say yes to this question because the only thought in my mind was the act of human emotions he displayed a week ago. When Draco almost seemed human...  
  
On my pillow next to mine, I found a package carefully wrapped in shimmering gold wrapping paper and a silk ribbon that looked as if it was an illusion of golden material. But the one thing that drew me far away from reality was the white rose.  
  
It was a symbol of friendship and beauty in the language of flowers. From Draco? Like so many times in the love stories, there was always a rose from man to woman. Something I wished would be a reality for me.  
  
A letter with a "Hermione" written in beautiful caligraphy of gold ink. With nerving hands and a quiver, I drew the letter from the envelope that sent shivers down my spine, I read the "love" letter whole-heartedly. It read.  
  
Dear beautiful Hermione,  
Due to some circumstances, you are in waiting of a rendezvous with me in my bed quarters tonight. Enclosed in the package is the attire you should wear. Take it in good care for it was something of my blessed mother, use it well.  
Until tonight, fair conejo...  
  
When my eyes finished reading the letter and my heart absorbing the romancing of Draco, I dropped the letter that was tainted with my tears. This would be my first love letter, and it was from the enemy I gained from the past seven years and a somehow I grew to know for two crazy weeks.  
  
And it scared me, when I read the letter I could smell his scent, I would imagine his face, and my heart would be unnaturally fast. I didn't want to feel this feeling of happiness for Draco Malfoy.  
  
He wasn't just a Malfoy anymore, he was a danger to me. An addiction that would soon lead me to my bloody end with tears. An infatuation that would ruin my life and my reputation.  
  
Something that could be worth it, a game to be played until the sands of the hour glass is gone. To leave both souls with only a memory of the mock expression of love. For now, I will play this game. For now, I will enjoy in the bask of his romancing and mockery love. For now, I will pretend to be in love with the seducing dragon.  
  
Carefully, I opened the package, half expecting Voldemort to spring out and Avada Kedarva me and half expecting another romantic object to bring me back into tears. The latter was the one I found in the box. (I hope you know which one it was. Use common sense, if you had any) I watched in amazement as the colors of robe blended and danced as if bewitched. It probably was.  
  
This was no ordinary robe, it was styled in the modern Japanese kimono, except extraordinarally cut short in the upper thigh. The emerald green and glittering silver, the colors of the Slytherin House, kimono left no space for imagination. At this thought, I blushed once again.  
  
Daring not to touch it, as I was afraid it was too delicate to touch and more importantly too exquisite, my hand brushed against the silky fabric, until I grew my courage enough, I wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing, to hold it against my cheek, amazed at the softness of a belonging of a Malfoy. Until I felt the salty tears trailing on the precious robes.  
  
I couldn't take it anymore, this unjust game of love and lust was uncontrolably unfair and painful.  
  
"I need to stop this midnight rendezvous with Malfoy before I end up drowning in my tears. I still want my dignity and pride." Everything around me seemed oblivious to my thoughts, as I ran through the corridors to Malfoy's master quarters.  
  
When I reached my destination, my fists banged on the door, persistant and strong, unlike my demeanor at that very moment, I was a vulnerable mess, my brown locks were free of the plain pearly hair clip and my eyes a bloodshot red from crying.  
  
"Open the fucking door, Malfoy! Open it right now. I want to talk. I don't want to do this anymore! Stop..." The last word was almost a lingering silence, as I wimpered on the floor, my hands tangled in the curly mass of hair.  
  
Malfoy's door sprang open, and sooner or later, I felt a warm pair of arms carrying me towards his bed. Him. I knew it was him, from his scent and warmth, and of course, this was his room. "Malfoy, let me go. Please. I don't need this right now. We need to talk." I wimpered effortlessly, but failing indeed.  
  
"Hush. You are no shape to be yelling at the top of your lungs at me. Now sleep." The norcotic of his husky, melodious voice almost lure me into sleep, but as I am, I kept fighting.  
  
"Malfoy. It should be a sin to have a seducing voice like that. That's why I can't play this game anymore. I can't pretend that we are both desperately in love so we can satisfy our lonliness. What if we do something we might both regret?"  
  
Time passed, as I continually stared into his eyes, drowning in the intense storm of massive grey eyes. Coming close to me, his arms reached for a lover's embrace, I tried to pull away, but his burly grip was more persistant. Honestly, I didn't want to leave.  
  
"Then let it be. Let's pretend that we are lovers, only until you leave because I know I can't resist you while you're here. You are too irresistable." Again for the second time in two weeks, our lips met in a passionate kiss, setting a bonfire in the cold regions of our hearts.  
  
Something that almost felt like love. What we both didn't realize was that I was crying joyful tears, that trailed upon my skin and his. Playing innocent butterfly kisses where my tears lay, soon enough, they disapeared from the contact of his warm, sweet kisses.  
  
'You are too irresistable.' Those words played in my head, like a broken record that seemed to never to stop. Pure lust? Or a precious form of love?  
  
From the migrane I gathered from my screaming and the musty scent of evergreens and mint from Draco, a pleasant sleep came over me, and I slept soundly, for the first time in a week. 


	2. To Our Securities

Read Me - Disclamer: These characters (the lovely Hermione and the devilishly good looking Draco) do not belong to me, but the ingenius J. K. Rowlings and persistant Warner Brothers Company, only because WB will sue me (for the love of the moon goddess Selene, the sue "innocent" children) for not insisting this disclaimer is placed, informing everybody (who already knows Harry Potter is a trademark of Warner Brothers), that HP certainly does. Even though the real owner of this book series belongs to the true sorceress of words J.K Rowlings. But all the other crappy stuff belongs to me! Enjoy and don't sue.  
  
Chapter Two - To Our Securities  
  
H.G. POV -  
Fluffy pillows.  
  
Those two words was the first thoughts that came through my mind when I woke up on a dim autumn night.  
  
From my surroundings I could tell that I was placed in my room once again, and hopefully, my night in shining armor was the one who carried me there. When I realized that hopeful thought of my night in shining armor was the imfamous Draco Malfoy, I gave a groan.  
  
A few hours ago was more than a nightmare than a glorious reverie, as I seeled the deal with my tears and a kiss. I gasped. The clock showed the time was 12:30! Somehow I wished that it was an earlier time, for I feared a punishment from Draco, worst yet, another lustful event.  
  
Quickly, I dressed in the proper attire, that was not at all proper and slipped my hair in its usual uneventful style of a bun. Through the empty, moonlit corridors, a light pacing was heard and nothing more. Then on the fair regions of the west wing, a brisk knocking was present, but not needed.  
  
For the door was opened and the room deserted. Where was Draco? And yes, in my thoughts I come to the conclusion to call him Draco, for that was his name and not Malfoy, like the imbecile of a father he had. Only in my thoughts however.  
  
It was deserted like the classrooms of Hogwarts during the glorious Christmas break, no trace of that familiar scent of pine or a single blond hair in sight.  
  
Just the glamorous room of a very enigmatic man. My attention was leaning towards the open window, letting in the cool seasonal wind, dancing with the almost tranlusent silk drapes.  
  
Amazing. How a particularly cold man like Draco Malfoy has fine taste in drapes, saving they were very feminine. But Draco was always someone with fine tastes. Then why would he pick me? I was an uptown ordinary Jane, muggle- born, and not much to look at.  
  
At times like these, I seek the comfort of my best friend, Harry (the- boy-now-man-who-lived) who always has advice, whether bad ones or good. So it would be a habit to call out in the middle of thin air for the help of your savior.  
  
I thought it was Harry, then it traveled to Draco, and back to Harry. Sooner later my savior would be my little dragon. Repeat as needed.  
  
And when trouble brews (no pun intended) and confusion arises with my relationship with the imfamous, rich and sinfully handsome, not to mention drop dead sexy eligable bachelor of the wizarding year, Draco Xavier Malfoy, who else to call then runner up?  
  
"Harry, I wish you were here. Maybe you can solve my problems like you always do with your comforting smile." No one was here, so why bother be so secretive, when you can think outloud. How very wrong I was.  
  
D.M. POV -  
Retched Potter. Does everything always has to be his? Can he just settle for second best? Perfect Potter with his perfect life with fame and popularity and now, he takes away the one thing that should be mine. Her. Hemione Granger.  
  
I'll teach that blinded girl and stupid Scarface what belongs to whom. She will be mine. A Malfoy always gets what he wants, that's a promise.  
  
With a malice smirk and a seducive manner, I walked in my room, invisible by the potion a dear professor brewed for a handy Christmas present.  
  
I stopped to look at the celestial sight in front of me. In all my years living, never have I seen anything that could take my breath away the way I catch sight of Hermione Granger. Upon my bedside, she sat, with the billowing, yet very sexy robe that my beautiful mother worn nicely, but the way it clung against her, it was as if it was made for such an angel of neither heaven or hell.  
  
However her face lacked the certain vigor she always possesed, replacing it with an expression of lonliness and regret. Why was she acting like this? Didn't we agree on this little affair so that emptiness would disappear, even for a short period of time?  
  
Well, at least I will do my part, to make her moan in pain and pleasure, and say his name in the most affectionate way, forgetting about the rat who doesn't deserve her love and only one person, him. Rage and jealous brought the menacing mind of Draco Malfoy and the poor victim will be a most unfortunate, Hermione Granger.  
  
With footsteps lighter than air, I was closing the extended gap, until I was mere inches from her, seeing a slight shiver.  
Was it the brisk cold air or the warm body heat of two persons? Did she know I was there, only a gap away?  
  
Pulling off the tiger lily hair ornament, that grasped her locks in a McGonangall bun, almost as if it was really her, hiding away the careless browns. Down the browns flew, to the bottom, like a chocolate cascade.  
Hmmm. A fragrant mix of chocolates and roses. How divine she smelled and soon after, tasted. Under the waterfall of hair, lay her swan-like neck, clean and porceline, tempting my tongue. Sensing her eyes was drawn shut from sexual pleasures, Hermione was indeed enjoying this.  
  
Tongues never really did have any self-control, it was an instrument of love making and passion. Tasting. So that was it did.  
  
My breath summoned some fleshy goosebumps if her neck, as the tongue and skin collided. In a very wet kiss. Instantly, the little witch drew back, as if the touch was death, a endlessly painful one.  
  
Now the sight was quite different, the eyes that were closed, now was two snake-like, very Slytherin, brown eyes, seething with anger, and a hidden tint of pain. "You have no right to do that."  
  
I was drawn to her, like a magnet. My footsteps were hardly heard, as I was mere inches away from her again. It was like I couldn't seperate her, a bond was connecting us, as if we were star-crossed lovers.  
  
The most unlikely of myths.  
  
As I came closer, that look of uncountable anger was turned into a pool of fear. With the back of my knuckles, I trailed my hand across her face, everywhere, mesmerized by her beauty and the persistant fire that burned.  
  
Whispering ever so softly. "I will not be played a fool, Granger. I know that there is something between you and Potter boy, but in my house, as my mistress, you are mine. Everything mine is not allowed by anyone, but me." Thinking this was just a speech to scare the frightened conejo, it was the real, factual truth.  
  
She was mine, and I intend to keep that way. But Hermione had a more different approach to this unfortunate and fortunate situation.  
  
"I am no one's possesion, not yours and not Harry's. I can do what I want, I am a human and not some . . . some . . . thing!!!" Some way with words.  
  
Closer and closer, I came when I am suddenly in front of ear, lingering with the scent of my angel, my Hermione. "You are not Harry's. But soon, you will be mine, and you won't regret it. No one can touch you, but me."  
  
A shiver and a failed runaway. As she started to make her escape, I caught her arm, complimenting my fast reflexes, in a firm, but gentle grip. Still gaining a wince, I sworn that the grip won't hurt her, until the robe slid of her shoulder, revealing a grousome scar, destroying the white sheen of her shin.  
  
I was at a rage. Who dare hurt his angel? In a voice so menacing that even Voldemort himself would run away scared, angry at the assailant of his glass doll, he threatened her, accidently.  
  
"Who hurt you, Hermione? Who gave you this scar? I swear I will hurt him so badly that you would hear his screams of pain." I didn't come to notice that I was shaking her with so much vigor, it brought tears to her eyes.  
  
"It's nothing. I fell off a tree when I was younger."  
  
Another lie.  
  
My hand brushed against her neck, and suddenly I pulled her robe down, revealing even more scars, probably from continuing whips, again and again, this brought so many memories.  
  
Wincing, she tried to escape once again, and both my arms surrounded the wall, as Hermione was pushed unto the green painted wall, trapped like a rabbit should be.  
  
"Now, Hermione, dear. I always take care of my possesions. And when they are mistreated in any sort of way, I get disfigured. When a Malfoy wants something, they get it. I want you, and when you are mine, I take care of my things. I really don't want this pretty, soft skin to be scarred, so why don't you tell Master Draco whom gave you these and everything will be alright."  
  
I sounded desperate, I sounded strange, but all I wanted to do right now is hurt whoever did this to my Hermione. My Hermione? Sound right, sounds perfect.  
  
Whimpering, she slid to her knees, bringing me down with her. "No, no. I can't tell you. If I do, they're going to tell Harry all about what's happening in the Malfoy Manor. I can't risk that, it's my life, my reputation. Don't you understand, I could lose hi- I mean, my friends."  
  
So this is what this is all about, I knew she didn't want to lose her perfect Potter. I hate him, I hate him. I could only mutter under my breath, seething with hatred for Scarface and maybe, Hermione. No, I could never hate her, even if I tried.  
  
"Get out. Get out of my bedroom. Go back to your bedroom. Out now!" The last sentence was said in a horrredous shout, I could see her jump in surprise and confusion. Staring into those big browns, I could see confusion and hurt, and I almost regreted it.  
  
Almost.  
  
With no last words, she fled the room, naked, cold and confused, and even more scarred in her heart. Bam! My fist and the picturesque wall met, forming a cracked dent and a bleeding heart.  
  
"Somethings are more bleeding than others." Referring to my heart, it bled and bled, more than my childhood days when all I yearn for was the affection and pride in my father.  
  
Then a chestnut mane was visible at the doorway, as she stared shocked at my hand.  
  
Rushing quickly, the little rabbit feld to my side, trying to find it in my stormy grey eyes why I did it. With a simple touch of her hand on mine, I drew my injured hand away, until she grabbed it, with I sat imobile, with no expression.  
  
A whisper. "Why'd you do it? Why did you hurt yourself just for me? I'm not special, I'm a thing, remember?" A smile crept on her kissable mouth, as she attempted a joke that wasn't even funny at all, it was wrong.  
  
Slowly she healed me hand, with her wand that was hidden in the pocket of the robe. How clever.  
  
"You're wrong, you are special. I was jealous, something I would never admit to anyone. Of Potter. He claims your heart, and I could see your love for him. All through my life all I wanted was a friend like you, that would love me unconditionally. I could see that you would even risk yourself for Potter, and all I wanted was for you to be mine, so you could pretend to love me for the short amount of time you were here. I care less if you had a thousand lovers in the past, but for the present, you are mine and no one else. As I said, what is mine, I will take responsibility of. Now who did this to you."  
  
I couldn't look into her eyes when I said this, maybe I was too afraid to look into those beautiful browns and see rejection, a Malfoy afraid, what will my father say if he saw a Malfoy going soft? Screw him.  
  
"Pansy. While you were gone, she took me as her personal slave and punished me for the most excuseable reasons and even if there were no reasons at all. Blackmailing me that she will tell Harry about what is going on here, and I was afraid."  
  
A fire burned in me, something more than passion, past the ordinary anger, was it rage? That terrible bitchy slut, how dare she do this to such my Hermione?!? All those scars, the tears that was falling down her face this instant. "It was horrible."  
  
Merely a whisper, she didn't face me, looking rather ashamed. With a finger, I lifted her dainty chin, so I could see the chocolate eyes, glistening with salty waters of the ocean.  
  
There, I kissed all her tears away, every tiny droplet was washed away by a tiny butterfly kiss, until no tears were present, only irresistable moist skin, that fled for miles.  
  
Then she did something that completely blew my mind off course and sent my emotions astir. Raising my injured, but almost healed hand, Hermione kissed it, a chaste kiss, as a mother would be asked to kiss a boo boo. Not even my mother did this for me.  
  
As she stood up, edging for the door, I stood up, grabbed her face softly, pulling her into yet another essetiable kiss. I couldn't face my emotions, for fear I would drown in them, so I distracted them with a kiss. But all that did was drown me more, submerging me until all I could think of was one thing, or rather one person.  
  
Hermione Granger. My little conejo, perfect, innocent, and a vixen.  
  
As if it was our wedding night, I carried her to the bed, still kissing her, and we did absoulutely nothing.  
  
Norcotic and drowsy, simple dreamland and an impatient sandman approached us. With a last thought, I could only hear her say.  
  
"Sweet dreams, Draco." Draco, she called me Draco.  
  
I would dream sweet dreams of her, my Hermionella that was being mistreated by the evil Slytherin Queen and I, her knight in shining armor saved her. How cliche. In that dream, she said she loved me.  
  
Did I?  
  
***  
  
Elizabeth Malfoy's POV -  
As usual I crept to Auntie 'Mione's bed chambers for the usual, lovely morning wake-up calls - bouncing irrationably on the bed - to wake up Sleeping Beauty to find that she wasn't there.  
  
"Curious, very curious." As my friend, Mr. Ollivander, would say at a time like this. I decided this would be a perfect time to use my thinking cap - something I picked up from muggle veletision, or whatever it's called.  
My thinking cap says sing a song!  
  
"Oh where, oh where has my little Herm gone? Oh where, oh where can she be? With her hair so long and her mouth so big, oh where, oh where can she be!" My "wonderful" voice rang through the halls, as I found that many of the maids were awake, with a rather distaught scowl on their face.  
I wonder why?  
  
As I passed Dracie's bed room, I stopped moving, singing, which was rather a shame for my audience, the maids, heck, I stopped breathing.  
There, on my brother's bed, lay Sleeping Beauty and my silver dragon of a brother sleeping in a rather loving and embracing position. Oh, my stupid brother finally got the girl.  
  
"I'm getting a sister, and Draco is gonna be a Mister!" In my pink unicorn pajamas that were bewitched to move, I pranced and danced around with a gleeful smile, and then was occupied with a devious grin.  
  
"Oh, I think Mr. and Mrs. Dracie needs to wake up!" In an instant, I was on the bed, doing my usual thing for a wake-up call. Bouncing up and down I went, until . . . "Elizabeth Arabella Malfoy! You are grounded until you are a very, very, and I mean, very old witch!!!"  
  
My dear brother's baritone voice rang out so loud, I swear I bet good ol' Dumbledore could have heard it.  
  
Then another voice broke the ice. "Come on, Malfoy. She does it to me all the time and I don't go grounding her." Oh, Hermione: 1, Draco: 0.  
  
"It's back to Malfoy now, is it? What happened to "Sweet dreams, Draco?" Oh, Hermione: 1, Draco: 2. "Well, Draco." Saying his name in a syrupy drawl. "When are you going to use my name. I do have a first name you know. It's not like my name is Granger Granger."  
  
Wow, what I love more, to see two adults fighting when it's so obvious they both like each other. "Fine, Hermione." Here they go again. "Thank you, Draco." Now I got to break this up.  
  
"As much as I love to hear this lover's quarrel and your honeymoon, do I have to remind you, big brother, that on Friday, you are hosting a Du Aire Chrisitian Christmas Ball for this year. A lot of people are going to be there. Prince Christian is going to be there, the heir of the oldest wizarding royalty, the Baudelaires. I, I mean, you have to make a big impression. What will he say when the supposed ball celebrating the 100th dynasty of the Baudelaires is a total mess? Seriously, I know that you want to suck faces with your girlfriend here, no offense, Auntie 'Mione ("None taken" was heard from a shocked conejo), but we have to do some serious butt kissing to the royal family."  
  
The dragon raised one of his blond eyebrows, as if I didn't realize that his hand was on hers.  
  
"You are only ten years old, and you want to be the boss of me. Heck, I don't even think you are old enough to like boys." Ouch, that was a soft spot.  
  
"I am old enough. Now tell me, Dracie. (Another wince, when he heard his "beloved" nickname) Who was the seven- year old brat who cried all night just because our cousin said that you had no chance with one of the Wierd Sisters, does Miranda ring a bell?" In my hand appeared a Kodak Magic moment of a very depressed blond-headed little wizard holding a Miranda Barbie doll.  
  
Like a little child who got her Christmas present early, Hermione's face lit up with so much happiness and glow I was afraid she'd blow up in content.  
  
"How sweet, Wait until Rena Skeeter (Rena, not Rita. Rena is the daughter following in her "precious" footsteps.) look at this picture. I can see it now, Malfoy Brat, No Chance, but So Much Hope." Quickly, she grabbed it and tried to escape, but was caught in the waist by a very red blushing Draco.  
  
Until all the commotion cause them to fall from the bed, under mountains of fabric. One medium slim Draco was on top of a petite miss Hermione, with giggles on the side and two smiling faces in love. Or that's what it looked like.  
  
"Surrender the humiliating Kodak Hell moment, or face the wrath of Master Draco." Ohh, witty. "Nunco." said a flustered Latina conejo, speaking a fluent Spanish accent. I think she said something concerning nuts or nuns.  
  
"Oh, so you are going all foreign language on me, mi conejo pequeno. Never is not an answer."  
  
Okay, maybe I was wrong, it had nothing to do with nuts or nuns.  
Neither did what was going to happen next.  
  
Their lips met in a disgusting kiss, like how the cliche romantic novels always have it, how crappy. But somehow it was something beautiful. I was happy that Draco finally found someone who can make him happy. Even if it was just a distraction for their meaningless, single life.  
  
I'm on a role today.  
  
While they were snogging, I saw my brother's dirty trick in slithering pass and snatching the photo. That was a two in one, a kiss and avoiding a big blackmail incident.  
  
Too bad my mock sister-in-law is years smarter than him, she is, after all, a witch, using her supernatural powers, there were duplicates of the blackmail evidence that could last a lifetime of laughs.  
  
With a defeated look on his face, I could tell me brother didn't care if she blackmailed the world on him, as long as she was by his side doing it, I actually think my brother is falling in love with the eccentric Miss Hermione Granger, only problem is Dracie's fat pride.  
  
At this rate, he is never going to get married. With my help, in a year, they're going to be engaged. Matchmaker Elle Malfoy, reporting for duty, matchmaking hopeless, proud idiots like my brother, the late Master Draco Malfoy.  
  
Oh, this is going to be fun.  
  
Now, I need him to get really jealous like that time before he left to do some ministry business, something about when I said about Auntie 'Mione's boyfriend, the imfamous Harry Potter! Harry Potter! Oh yes, I got a plan. . .  
  
Watch out world, Elle Arabella Malfoy is going to hook my brother up!!! I hope this doesn't backfire, like that last time with my fifth cousin who needed to hook up with her crush, she ended up getting divorce at age 14.  
  
And the other time . . . let's not get into that right now.  
  
He is going to owe me, he is going to owe me, he is going to owe me. That same mantra came to my head and through my mouth, as I said to my brother, in a misty Seer voice. "You are going to owe me, dear brother. Oh yes, you are."  
  
And I started dancing and singing my way out of his room, leaving a bewildered dragon with his love bunny.  
  
Oh, parting is such sweet sorrow, as the great wizard poet once said, that Shakespeare guy, that always like poisoning himself to fake his death, after spending a night with his fair Juliet. (Will Shakespeare was a wizard, but wrote muggle versions of his best work, like Romeo and Juliet, Much Ado About Nothing, The Taming of the Shrew, Hamlet, and a Midsummer Night's Dream. The muggles love them.)  
  
Adieu, adieu, adieu. . . for now that is.  
  
***  
  
D.M. POV -  
Once my annoying brat sister left the room, I sighed.  
  
"Finally, my brat sister is gone, more snogging I guess." As I bent lower to kiss her, a hand blocked my face.  
  
"Hey, what happened to my "baby" sister? She is not a brat, Elle is actually quite sweet, sometimes. And like she said, you have a ball to plan in less than five days, so you better get up and going." Like always, the responsible one always spoils my fun, but Hermione Granger never stopped me from doing my daily mischief in Hogwarts, why should she start now?  
  
Cause she's a woman, duh!  
  
I stood up, dusting imaginary dust off my green dragon pj's, and offered a hand to Hermione.  
  
"If I'm doing this planning, you are going to do it with me, Professor McGonagall. A little wizard like me can't do all the work, I need a hefty, strong woman to help me. Lose some pounds, would ya." She laughed.  
  
All I could say right then was she laughed, cause I was completely distracted from the real world, everything was that beautiful string of music. God, I loved her laugh. After she stopped and I jumped out of la la land, another witty comment came.  
  
"Hey, I resent that. I'm not fat like Professor McGonagall. I mean she really needs to lose weight." I stopped walking and stared at her in mock shock. (Hey, that rhymes. I'm a poet, and don't even know it.)  
  
"I never thought I'd see they day, when McGonagall's prized student will be dissing her off." Her dainty eyebrow raised like Mt. Rushmore. "When did you start saying muggle slang? Oh, I know. The new Draco Malfoy. Interesting."  
  
I shrugged. "Maybe I visted muggle America too many times."  
  
Stoking her kissable chin (every part of her is kissable) as if she was a over paid muggle shrink, Hermione nodded and walked her way. Confused I followed her. Big mistake. "Hey, where are you going?"  
  
"A girl needs to dress, Malfoy. Opps, I mean Draco." (Here comes one of my prized jokes in my latest bestseller 101 phrases you shouldn't say to a girl unless you want to be hexed to China. Only for 10 galleons, 17 sickles, and 5 knuts.)  
  
"I wouldn't mind watching you get dress. It's not like I didn't see anything last night."  
  
Next thing I know, I'm on the ceiling, wearing a horribly designed polka dotted dress and my beautiful blond hair turned pink, with unmatching shoes. Click, went another Kodak Hell moment, and another blackmail evidence to ruin my reputation. Thanks.  
  
With a vengeful smirk, the devious witch walked away, with her pink bunny slippers and a very interesting edition to the scrapbook.  
  
"You could have at least matched the shoes!" Her figure was miles away, but I could sense a growing smile on her face, and I knew she heard me.  
  
And then I remembered. My wand was hidden in the ocean of comforters and blankets in my room! Great, of all times. "Help! Help! Help me, somebody!" Yells were heard throughout the Malfoy Manor, and suddenly, an amused Narcissus Malfoy stood upside down, or was it because I was standing on the ceiling, and I was upside down.  
  
"Oh dear son, I don't even think You-Know-Who himself could make you wear thar rather amusing attire. Who's the vixen who did this to you? And don't tell me your sweet, innocent sister did this."  
  
Sweet? Innocent? Elle, sweet and innocent? Yeah right.  
  
Fortunately for her, it wasn't her doing this time, but the notorious book worm, Hermione Granger. "The au pair of Elle, Miss Hermione Granger. She used to be in Hogwarts as a schoolmate. We are currently, uh, friends."  
  
Friends. That word rolled in my tongue unbearably slowly, and its presence still lingered. I never had real friends before, unless you count Elle, which doesn't count.  
  
My mother's raven eyebrow raised, like Hermione's earlier before the incident I stupidly caused. A smile crept through her face, and instantly, she glowed. My mother rarely glowed. "I like her already. If she had the nerve to do this to you, I think I like her."  
  
My mother liked Hermione! Imposible! Possible! But somehow, my little rabbit always had something that draws people near her, like a gift of animal magnetism. "Mommy, can you get me down? I'm getting really dizzy."  
  
I said in a sickly sweet voice. "No, I think I'll leave you up there." My mother was always the sarcastic one, but seriously leave me up here, I'm her son.  
  
Then a familiar voice joined our little conversation. "Dracie, how'd you get up there. Let me guess, Auntie 'Mione did this to you. You must have really done something to provoke her. Your loss." Another sarcasic one, my sister is.  
  
Wait a minute.  
  
"Auntie 'Mione?!?" Both my mother and I called. When did my brat of a sister start calling her "Auntie 'Mione"? "Yeah. I thought sooner or later, she is going to be my sister-in-law, so I should start welcoming her to the family. But I couldn't call her Sister 'Mione, 'cause then, she'd sound like a nun. She is too old to be a Grandma, so Auntie was the only thing that sounded right. I couldn't call her Uncle 'Mione, now would I?"  
  
Welcoming her into the family? Sister-in-law?  
  
Wait one moment, who said Hermione Granger was going to be my wife? Who said she was going to be Mrs. Hermione Malfoy? That sounded so right, her being all mine, not one man alive could touch her except me. Not even Potter.  
  
Hermione Amelia Minaette Victoria Granger Malfoy.  
  
Long, but nice. As I went into a state of la la land, both my mother and retched sister tried to pull me out of my reverie state, but failed.  
  
Until a certain rumbling in my tummy caused me to turn as scarlet as a ripened tomato. (Sounds like Winnie the Pooh)  
  
With two apparent smiles on their faces, my mother undid the spell, and I fell flat on my face, hard on the finally sculpted white marble floors. "You could have at least let me down softly, Mother."  
  
But, then I realized I was the only one there, left in this riducles attire and a hungry stomach, calling "Feed Me". A delightful, savory smell came to my senses, as it called out "Breakfast, you stupid oaf!"  
  
Once I dressed the way I normally do, going for the whole devilishly hot, rich, and eligable bachelor deal, I stormed to the enormous ballroom dining, famous for its size and the instant awe given to you by its beauty and enigmatic glow. It amazes me every time I come to this room, it always left me in a state of amazement and pleasure, as if it was my first time. Again and again.  
  
"I see someone got you off the ceiling, impressive. Now who is the dumb oaf who did that?" Dumb oaf? My mother? Certainly, but I won't be the first one to admit that.  
  
"Oh, I see you already managed to insult my mother before you actually met her. Impressive, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor." Awarding points to Gryffindor wasn't the usual Slytherin style of insulting, but the look on my dear rabbit's face was something that deserves a Kodak Magic moment.  
  
Revenge is a dish best served cold, or sarcastically.  
  
"Your mother? I'm so sorry, Draco. I didn't mean to insult your mother. I was just -" Interrupting, my dumb oaf or a mother sauntered in, with my gossip queen of a sister. Sounds like a picture perfect pair.  
  
"Draco, dear. Introduce me to your lovely friend, here." As if she highlighted lovely with a neon yellow marker, my mother surely made it clear that lovely was quite the opposite of the invinsable Granger Granger.  
  
It was obvious by the way Miss Granger Granger looked that she wasn't something you'd see in Witch Weekly's Top Ten Witches With Wicked Wands for Wicked Looks (I subscribed for a two year contract for Witch Weekly. I could hear Scarface and Weasel laughing already).  
  
With a plain wardrobe of black, black, and black robes, like the simple attires of Hogwart's students, required for an au pair in any sense and no makeup found on her face, Hermione Granger was an ordinary Jane, with a nice face hidden in layers and layers of chocolatey curls.  
  
An ordinary Jane with a natural beauty, if any, and a stunning figure, yet again hidden in the many articles of clothing unnessisarily worn. But I couldn't forget the goddess I found in that Jane last night, something that ordinary could never compete with.  
  
Indeed, somewhere in that naive, little rabbit was a beautiful woman that was not ordinary, nor ugly. That woman was something else. And my sister thought that as well.  
  
"Mother, this is the notorious Miss Hermione Granger, au pair of Elle. Miss Granger, this is my mother, Mrs. Narcissus Malfoy." At the word "notorious", Hermione raised one of her cute brown eyebrows, which I simply love and detest at the same time, I love it because it was so adorably wonderful on her, and detest it because I love it, and I knew a Malfoy never loved things, nor people.  
  
But Miss Hermione Granger was climbing the charts already.  
  
"Auntie 'Mione, we have to go shopping for a dress for you to wear on Friday night. WE need you to look wonderful." We, referring to me, as usual. Bloody sister, too bad I can't hex her. But I wouldn't mind seeing Granger at her best, so bring it on. (A muggle movie Draco loves to watch. *smile*)  
  
However, Hermione being her modest and boring self said. "Oh, no. I'm not planning to go to the ball, plus I'm a nanny, I'm not supposed to wear nice robes and such. And, I don't have any money to spend on the expenses."  
  
"Why, you scared? I promise you it won't be a room filled with death eaters." At this comment, my mother stared gravely at me. She was always scared of the things that associated with my loathed father, afraid to dare speak the words "death eaters" or "Voldemort". But practically all of wizarding world was scared as well.  
  
The look of challenge in Granger Granger's face showed the Gryffindor colors in her. How heroic.  
  
"Is that a challenge, Mr. Malfoy? Because a Gryffindor never backs out of a challenge, and almost always wins. So beware." Doing this witchy wave with her hands, pardon the pun, and the "boo" sounds, that was unsuccessful trying to make me a bit afraid of the challenge I just bestode, but the most it did was make me laugh, it seems I do this thing called "laughing" more often since she moved in.  
  
Humbug. I was just laughing at how dumb she looked. At times like these, I wish I had a camera.  
  
"Tsk. Tsk. Granger, you don't know what you're getting in."  
  
"I don't know what I'm getting in? I didn't know what I was getting in when I became Elle's au pair, but did that stop me? No. Because I'm a bloody Gryffindor."  
  
While we argued some more, my sister and mother sat there enjoying the view as if it was a bloody movie. For Merlin's sake, they had popcorn.  
  
How corny can my family get?  
  
"Oh, Hermione. I will make you so drop dead gorgeous that even Dracie here won't have anything to say."  
  
Why did I ask?  
  
"Yah right. The day Draco Malfoy won't have anything to say, is the day I'll fall in love with him, which will be never." Yah it won't be never, because I always have something to say.  
  
"Be careful on what you wish for, it might come true." With that, Granger followed Elle the wicked witch out the the ballroom, which I love adoringly, saying the last Granger phrase of the day. "I didn't wish for your chauvenistic pig of a brother to fall in love with, I was merely stating that would be the least likely thing to happen."  
"Whatever you say, but the wish might come true." Said the Elle.  
  
"But that wasn't a wish!" Said the Granger.  
  
And poof they went, to spend my money on worthless crap to try to make Granger look less Gryffindor and bookwormish than she really is. Let me see the magic, pardon the pun.  
  
Then my mother spoke, after a long while. Breaking the thin layer of coversation ice.  
  
"Well, at least I can say the girl could give you the run for your money with verbal abuse. She's different from the other prostitutes you call girlfriends." Prostitutes? Blaise? Surely that is a light way to say it.  
  
"Maybe because she's not a prostitute. Granger is a bloody Gryffindor." 


	3. To Our Courtship

Read Me - Disclamer: These characters (the lovely Hermione and the devilishly good looking Draco) do not belong to me, but the ingenius J. K. Rowlings and persistant Warner Brothers Company, only because WB will sue me (for the love of the moon goddess Selene, the sue "innocent" children) for not insisting this disclaimer is placed, informing everybody (who already knows Harry Potter is a trademark of Warner Brothers), that HP certainly does. Even though the real owner of this book series belongs to the true sorceress of words J.K Rowlings. But all the other crappy stuff belongs to me! Enjoy and don't sue.  
  
Chapter Three- To Our Courtship  
  
D.M. POV -  
  
"Good bloody hell. Draco Malfoy, I am going to kill you." She's back. After five desired, but quiet hours, Granger was back from Hogsmeade and going to kill me.  
  
"What's new?" There she appeared at my doorway, looking like a mangled kitten, that is about to eat me. "What did Elle do to you? You look like Goyle and Crabbe used you as toilet paper." Oh, witty.  
  
With a look that could kill, Granger dragged her tired body on my favorite love seat. Must I remind you that it was MY favorite love seat. "Is that a way to treat a girl? I knew you were scum, but I thought you were scum with manners."  
  
"Who said you were a girl?" Then a pillow bombarded me on the head. Ouch. Note to self: Never tease Granger when exhausted, might result in massive head injury or. . .  
  
"Pillow Fight!" I yelled to a startled Granger. Pillows flew, laughter arose, and minutes passed, until we were both exhausted on the floor, back to back. When I turned, I saw the side of Granger I never seen before: a vulnerable, innocent girl named Hermione.  
  
Looking incredibly seducing in a innocent sort of way, the mangled hair, lovely chestnut eyes looking childish, and a loving smile that I only recieved in my dreams, she was a picture of an angel. A very womanly figured cherub.  
  
At the corner of her hair, lay a white swan feather, begging me to take it off. And so I did. "Make a wish." I told her, as I held the feather up to her nose, causing her nose to itch.  
  
"What?" Hermione whispered, confused and with the look in her eyes, frightened. "Make. A. Wish." Closing her eyes, a few seconds passed, as she made her secret wish, probably about Potter. I hate Potter. I don't why I suddenly hate Potter so much all of a sudden. It's because he get's everything: the fame, the popularity, Hermione . . . Hermione?!?  
  
Not the Gryffindor, proud, seducing, intelligent Hermione Granger, Golden Boy's girlfriend, but the Hermione now, the innocent one that seems to be always there to love you.  
  
Humbug. All a bunch of Gryffindor hogwash.  
  
In a husky, low tone, I asked her what was her wish. With a teasing smile, she shook her head slowly. "Nope, I can't tell you what my wish is. It might not come true."  
  
"If you tell me, I can grant your wish for you. You can buy anything with money." She, then, gave a persistant sigh.  
  
"It is one thing that being a rich, spoil brat as yourself never learned. Money can't buy courage, compassion, forgiveness, loyalty, love." At the word "love", the girl lingered a bit on the word, as she was drawn in a distant reverie.  
  
Love. Who needs love when you could have anything you want with money?  
  
"Without love, there would be no life. Without love, the world would be in a heartless war without any end. Don't you see, Draco? Everybody needs love to live a complete life."  
  
How true she was. Hermione Granger always spoke the truth, even with something as unreal as love.  
  
"The world is already in a heartless war without an end. Love isn't real, Granger. It is a lie, a fantasy of many men drove to insanity just because the never experience it. Don't get materialistic and speak such nonsense. It could destroy you." I stood up, and tried to make a break away from this conversation. But Hermione was too fast for the likes of me.  
  
"You just say that because you never thought you could experience love. But you have, even with that icy wall around your heart."  
  
What was she talking about? A Malfoy never experienced love, ever.  
  
"What are babbling about, Granger? I have never cross the other side with those retarded losers and their girlfriends."  
  
"Malfoy! Hello? Love is the thing between you and Elle. Love is the relationship you have with your mother. It doesn't have to be a sexual relationship! Love is the friendship between friends. I could die right now, and be a happy person because I lived a life filled with so much love. When will you understand?"  
  
Leaving me with thoughts unknown, her footstep signaled her departure from my room. I could remember the rythmn, it was times like these I was more aware with my surroundings. Thump, clish. Thump, clish. Thump, clish.  
  
It was my lullaby . . . funny, isn't it? Love is a very funny thing. Or was it delirium?  
  
H.G. POV -  
When I left the room, I come to notice my breath was an uneasy rythmn and I was close to breaking in a chain of tears. How did Malfoy drive me to such lengths in tears in mere seconds?  
  
Or was it the ever urging temptation to comfort him like a teddy bear. Malfoy? A teddy bear? True, he had a softer side to the vicious Slytherin prince in our Hogwarts years. But a teddy bear?  
  
Were we friends? Something about the pass weeks destroyed the bond of enemies created during the seven years of our youth, but are we friends?  
  
Will I care for him as my friend? Love him as my heart says when my voice of reason say keep away from the fire or get burnt.  
  
As I supported myself on a corner wall, my fingers barely caressing the fabric of the wallpaper, as if bewitched, my eyes bared wet tears. Then I felt someone brush the tear away. Facing him, I thought to myself if it was worth it.  
  
Like a puff of smoke, he disapeared, realizing the thought was a pigment of my imagination.  
  
Was it worth it to break the ice of a most deadly dragon?  
  
"Draco, I'm there for you. I'll love you as my friend. I will love you. No body deserves to be alone. Not you."  
  
But he never heard. Maybe it wasn't meant to be known. However I'll continuing loving him.  
  
As my friend, as my Slytherin prince.  
  
***  
  
"Rain, rain. Go away, come again some other day." As I sing this childhood relic of a song, I watch the rain drops fall mercilessly on the grounds of Malfoy Manor. On the windowpane, foggy and wet, lay countless smiley faces which I drawn just for the very heck of it.  
  
I was bored! Extremely bored enough to act like that annoying, five year old Hermione Granger I was. Great Merlin, do something about the damn rain.  
  
Then an childish idea happen to pass by in my empty pasture of the green Ireland, or other terms, my head. Grabbing my red, shiny boots and jacket of the same crimson color, my feet dragged me to the outside world of Atlantis found on the grassy lawns of Malfoy Manor.  
  
Splash! Splash! Splash! Any one with a right mind wouldn't be out in the rain, stepping on every muddy puddle. But I didn't have a right mind, at all. Not when I'm bored.  
  
It amazed me to every bit that I'm actually having fun, and started to giggle.  
  
A fine melody of latin music, spicy and sensual, reminding me of the many times I've heard it in my grandmother's humble castle and the many times I danced with Harry Potter, the boy who lived to break my heart. Memories. The tears. Everything. I just wanted to forget.  
  
It came from the west wing of the manor, where I believe Draco's eccentric mother dwells. So she loves this music. Even with the music that scars the past, I still love the heavy rythmn of the dance.  
  
The dance called the tango.  
  
Swaying my hips naturally, I started to dance the solo tango steps I learnt time and time again. In the rain, I imagined at the minute, that I was still in my grandmother's palace, wearing that lovely crimson dress I adored for so long, but never wore. Because I wasn't beautiful enough.  
  
Not even for Harry.  
  
Tears dared to escape my eyes, but were never seen in the mix of rain. It showed in my dancing however. Suddenly in the mists of everything, I felt a lean, muscular warmth pressed against me, and a breath against my cheek.  
  
"Dancing in the rain. Isn't it bit cliche for even you?" Draco. Always that witty one, he is. "Who cares? Beats staying inside nice and warm. Plus it's just a little rain."  
  
I turned around and faced him, his glorious, handsome face in it's usual half smile. My breath went rather rigid, the past days, Draco Malfoy always leaves me bothered and hot.  
  
"Guess you are right. I see that you can dance, but no one beats the master of dance. I am the very best. Let's dance." Tango. His movenments, his steps, the closeness, the heat underneath our damp clothes. This man was a perfectionist in the art of tango and of course, seducing.  
  
D.M. POV -  
Damn. A little rain? Does a little rain make the little mist on her long eyelashes look so tempting and innocent. She doesn't know what she's doing to me.  
  
How would I know that when I escaped the paper work of the ministry, my unusual rabbit would be dancing outside like a child? That I would be dancing with her as well?  
  
How could I resist? This beautiful woman was the image of an angel in the rain, looking more gorgeous than all the other blondes, brunettes, and red heads I've seen in my life. Because?  
  
The question appeared in my head like a bolt of lightning scar of Harry Potter's forehead. What a pun. Why did I think that Hermione Granger look extraordinarly lovely today? Even when her confidence in herself was lower than the possibility of me falling in love.  
  
What a frustrating woman! She drives me insane with confusion, and this perfect feeling when Hermione fits safely in my arms. From the top of her chocolatey cascade of hair, the scent of lavender and vanilla fills my senses. I wouldn't mind staying here forever.  
  
As I drew the dance to a flirtatious dip, I gazed into her eyes, those chocolate browns that could addict any man, I'm still wondering why she wasn't claim yet. Hermione Granger was a goddess beyong all goddesses. My gaze traveled south to the ever seducing, kissable lips. Red and full, perfect for kissing. Curious, my finger grazed over those sugary lips that drove me to near insanity and wonder if any other man tasted these gifts from the gods. Coming to the conclusion, I didn't want any other man except me to claim her mine.  
  
She was mine! Closer I came, until our lips slightly touched, tasting not taking, wanting but not tempted to go any further than the gentlest of touch.  
  
But the seduction was too much for me. When was I affected like this. A womanizer like me was never tempted by any other woman, the most beautiful tried but failed. However now, I just couldn't stop now. Not now, not when I was so close.  
  
Like a hawk on his prey, I dove for the kill and it landed me my own doom. I forgot everything. Can a woman actually be gifted the power of taking stress away? A wonder to medical science. At first, only I was reacting to the kiss, tongue touching and everything. Then she, with the shyness of a schoolgirl, attempted to use her cute pink tongue of hers.  
  
I groaned. Hermione Granger tasted wonderful, like chocolate and marshmellows. The perfect thing on a cold rainy night.  
  
"Mmmm. I'm having to use all my self-control to not sweep you off your feet and bring you to my bedroom. And make endless love sessions to a gorgeous angel. Have any one told you that you are the most beautiful woman I've seen in my life?" She looked at me with her eyes, as I sensed a tint of rosy pinkness on her cheeks. An angel. She was my angel. But what was this feeling? Could it be lo- no, it can't. Must be lust.  
  
Perfectly normal for something like lust to happen between a man and a woman. Perfectly normal. (So he says.)  
  
H.G. POV -  
  
How many times have I imagined for a man to utter those words to me? How many countless nights have I read that tall, dark, and handsome hero speak the same phrases to his fair maiden in the love stories borrowed from the library?  
  
When Draco Malfoy told me that I was the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, a rush of adrenaline flutter into the pit of my stomach, as I felt a touch of grace befall me. Being in his strong arms, possesively around my petite bodice, I had the urge to cry in happiness.  
  
Then I remembered the betrayal I felt when another man spoke these words so well, however not as romantic as the way Draco makes it. It hurt. It hurt me terribly, and still I bared the scars of the pain.  
  
The words that Draco Malfoy spoke that night after Pansy's slashing confession was made repeated again and again. "I care less if you had a thousand lovers in the past, but for the present, you are mine and no one else."  
  
So he just lusted over me? To contain the emptiness and lust for a woman who he found attractive?!? I knew better than to believe a Malfoy, but suddenly the truth hurts. It was all a lie? I tried to fight the losing battle against my tears, but the waterworks was on a role today.  
  
Why would I be crying? It's just Draco Malfoy! But he wasn't just Draco Malfoy any more, he was different. He was an incredible person, and it hurt to feel rejection. Being the "incredible" person he was, Draco made me forget the pain when Harry left me heartbroken. I owed him at least a "thank you."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For making me forget the pain I felt when someone left me heartbroken for something better. It almost made me feel special, like I was really beautiful. I mean it's really kind of you to feel guilty enough so you can make me feel like I was wanted. Must be a special gift, making rejects feel needed."  
  
I tried to stifle a laugh to make it sound like a joke, but it only made it seem I was choking on my sobs. And maybe I was.  
  
D.M. POV -  
Wrong thing to say, Hermione, wrong thing to say.  
  
She thinks I kissed her because I felt pity and guilt towards her sorry little ass. Impossible. I truely think Hermione Granger is the most wonderful person I met in my life, even if I just lust for her (dumb one, isn't he?).  
  
What angers me the most was that she made me feel guilty at myself. A Malfoy, guilty? But I wasn't my father's son, the man doesn't deserve to be called a father. Neither the less, I was still a Malfoy.  
  
The tears were transparant as they mingled with the rain, but the pained expression in her eyes showed otherwise. Why was she hiding this from me, all the guilt, the pain? I thought we were friends. (People, remember the night when we found out Pansy Park-N-Slut was hurting her, they made a vow to become friends.)  
  
However the anger seemed stronger than the compassion I felt, it nearly blinded me with rage.  
  
"I don't need you to thank me, Granger. I don't need your thanks. You still don't get it, do you? You still haven't got over Potter, so you need to make me feel guilty. What I said was true, every word. But now I think that you really are a sorry reject with no self-confidence. You just want to soak in self-pity. Granger, you are pathetic. It pains me to see such a worthless person who knows nothing about what I think and what you really are. Pathetic, really."  
  
Words. I thought words were just letters stringed together making sentences. But these "words" seemed cruel and undeserving to a person like Hermione. However the guilt and anger was intoxicating my sense to feel compassion, so that the only words I spoke, were ones that weren't true.  
  
Did I care?  
  
I cared like the world, but I just couldn't melt that barrier of ice surrounding my heart for a few laughs, the best kisses, and the first time I was geniunely happy in my life. (Oh, how dumb can our little Dracie get?) For the few times in my life, I cried with the rain as the rain and my tears seemed to fit.  
  
A rainy day for tears.  
  
As my feet carried me away, ignoring the goddess with a past that seem to destroy everything, on the mud-stained grounds of Malfoy Manor, the cowardice dragon turned his back on the very few chances on a lifetime of love with his fragile rabbit who can't seem to forget.  
  
Denial.  
  
***  
  
D.M. POV -  
  
Hours passed, after that unfortunate incident in the rain. My head was in a fuddle, and it seems I couldn't concentrate on anything. I put my papers down in defeat, and sighed. Damn that woman, she always infuriates me even when she's not around.  
  
Hermione Granger, the only woman who could drive me to the near brink of insanity, was stamped in his thoughts ever since she stepped into the manor. In my sleep, during my work, while eating, even when I, how should we say it?, nead to go to the privey (the bathroom, you ninny!).  
  
However I came to the one conclusion that erased all my negative thoughts away, that would cheer me when I think the world might end right there, but I would die a happy man. The angel in the rain made me feel loved.  
  
"Draco! You ninny (can't have enough of the word!)! What did you do to her? I swear, I will kill you if anything happens to Auntie Hermie." What in Merlin's name is my annoying speak of a sister ranting about?  
  
"Can you tell me, in a rational voice, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!" I seem rational, you think?  
  
"Don't tell me you don't know. Hermione has been missing for the past hour, Draco!" The lithe body of the silver-haired girl dropped to the carpet, in sobs. In the palm of her hand, the one she covered her face, was tears. Tears.  
  
"Draco. I'm afraid. I don't want to lose Hermione, ever." In some way, my other angel said in words hidden by sorrow and compassion, that she loved that person in ways I don't know, because I never dared to love anyone.  
  
But did I love Hermione Granger? That should be left simply a mystery.  
  
The thought of losing my chocolate brown-haired angel was painful. Something I could never handle. As if it was an instinct, my feet carried me as fast as it could, searching through the gardens of Malfoy Manor.  
  
Somehow I knew Hermione was out here. Why? Why did I hurt her so much? The pain in my heart couldn't bare the emotions, and tears fell gently on the curves of my face.  
  
"Hermione!"  
  
"Hermione!"  
  
"Hermione!"  
  
I repeated her name over and over again, but the garden was still as tranquil as the night's ocean. When I kept repeating her name, as my weak cry for help, my voice grew hoarse and quite husky.  
  
In the first time in years, my memories journeyed back to the innocent and vulnerable boy of four, desperate for love, only to recieve more pain and scars given by my father. Once again, I became that desperate little boy, but I couldn't let go of the woman I care about the most.  
  
Hermione Granger was special, she was the light of the dark tunnel, and without her I would be lost, never to feel the joy of happiness. I knew I didn't love her, but I cared for her deeply, more than any other person in the world.  
  
I couldn't lose her. Without the smile, the gentle warmth she possess, the gift of loving, her scent, I would die.  
  
Hours flew by, like the never-ending torchure of realizing that you lost that person you care for, it seemed as if all hope and faith was gone from the face of the earth. A blur in the distance caught my attention.  
  
I ran, even if the chances of this being a flower patch, or a forlorn animal, but I couldn't live with the fact that she simply was gone. As the blur came clearer, a smile crept to my face.  
  
Hermione.  
  
As if a fallen angel from nirvana, the sight of her was mesmorising. The silky mane of hair spread like a rich carmel halo, and her lips was still ever promising to taste. I missed this. I missed her. And now I found her, I'm never letting her go.  
  
When I reached her, the tiny hand that belonged to Hermione, was scalding hot. I felt the skin around her, every inch was a raging infernio. She was buring of fever. And the battle was not yet over.  
  
I gathered her extremely light body into my arms, and gazed down upon her, giving her a light, sugary kiss on her lips.  
  
"Just fight it, Hermione. I can't lose you."  
  
"I will, Draco."  
  
After that, she dropped into a state of unconsciousness, with the last of her undenyable charm, a smile. A smile for me. With that little inspiration, I grinned like a happy fool. A very happy fool.  
  
Once we, meaning the unconscious Hermione and I, reached the majestic manor of mayhem, or what my chocolate-haired angel once stated one bright morning, I brought her to the quarantine room.  
  
Elizabeth. The one word that could describe her expression as she watched in front of the door was fear.  
  
"Elle. Quickly, get a sponge and a bowl full of ice cold water. Now!" At my persistant  
  
Heading for my flame-feathered owl, Enigma, I owled the request for the best mediwizard in the entire continent of Europe. As I stared at the opaque complection of the only girl I cared for, and forgotten about the expenses, the regrets, the pain, and the barrier of ice surrounding the black hole I called my heart.  
  
Why was I this heartless bastard (so true, but we love him anyway) who deeply hurt the one I care for? Why could I just love her?  
  
Because I don't. Love her, that is. I care for her, as a person, a friend, and companion, heck even my bride, but it would be out of the friendship between us, and friendship was the most rare thing in the Malfoy bloodline.  
  
But love was the rarest. Even if I did love her, Hermione Granger wouldn't love a beast like me? I'm too complicated, she doesn't want that (you wanna bet?).  
  
Stroking her feathered brown locks, and grazing my finger over her ivory cheek, I knew that if I took her as my bride, I would be the happiest man on earth. And that, I wouldn't be alone again. Never again.  
  
The mediwizard of the Irish Isles, Dr. Lillian Keyes, instantly apparated, to the suprise of Elizabeth and I. Keyes was a stout woman, much like Weasley's mother, except for the short raven-colored curls placed on her head.  
  
"What is the problem here, child?" Being from the Irish Isles, she spoke with a fluent accent that rolled sweetly on the tongue. It was rather comforting, but I was no child.  
  
Cutting a long story short, I said. "She was out in the rain. And this was how I found her." As she raised one eyebrow, Keyes gave me a curious look.  
  
"Why was she out in the rain?" Why did she have to ask that?!?  
  
"Look it's none of your business."  
  
"It is my business. She is a patient of mine, and I demand to know what happened. Now if you would be so kind, please tell me the entire story, child." And I did the complete opposite of what I was planning to do, I told my story. And she listened.  
  
"Now, would you please tend to her?" I, Draco Malfoy, was pleading with the most innocent and desperate of faces, and that demon spirit with scowl was never present to snob a person off. Impressing, very impressing.  
  
"Yes, but I need to have a word with you after." Lillian, as I called her, treated the wounded rabbit that fell for the dragon's death trap, and backfired. I was left in the most painful death trap that created myself, having to watch her slip away from me. When tears threatened to fall once again, I blinked and blinked to stop the water flow.  
  
Once Lillian was done, she approached me with a unexplainable expression. I grew scared and weary ever step she walked, every breath I took. The silence was death.  
  
"What's wrong? Is Hermione fine?"  
  
"Yes. Yes, child. Don't need to get your knickers in a twist. Just a mild fever. But I need to talk to you about you and the girl. It is completely obvious you have feeling for her."  
  
"I care for her, if that's what you mean."  
  
"No, something deeper than care. Now tell me, would you die for her? Do anything to keep her alive and happy? Would be lost without seeing her smile to you each day?"  
  
All the answers to her questions was completely obvious. Certainly. I nodded, with caution and curiosity.  
  
"Then don't lose the girl, Draco, dear. You care for her more than you think. I don't want to be the person who tell you what reality is in front of your face, but you need to open those blind eyes before the worst could happen. You could lose her, almost like today. And next time, you won't be as lucky. Please follow your heart, dear. Draco, you are a good man, better than most men I've met in my life. You deserve to live a happy life. Hermione and you deserve to live happy lives. Goodbye, child. Follow your heart, not the hard skull on your head." With a wink, she disapeered.  
  
Staring in bewilderment, the wise words of a wise woman repeated in my head. Did I deserve to live a happy life? What reality was in front of my face? But with all these questions, I came to one fact.  
  
I don't want to lose Hermione. 


	4. To Our Tragedies

Read Me - Disclamer: These characters (the lovely Hermione and the devilishly good looking Draco) do not belong to me, but the ingenius J. K. Rowlings and persistant Warner Brothers Company, only because WB will sue me (for the love of the moon goddess Selene, the sue "innocent" children) for not insisting this disclaimer is placed, informing everybody (who already knows Harry Potter is a trademark of Warner Brothers), that HP certainly does. Even though the real owner of this book series belongs to the true sorceress of words J.K Rowlings. But all the other crappy stuff belongs to me! Enjoy and don't sue.  
  
Chapter Four - To Our Tragedies  
  
H.G. POV -  
Pancake. Pancake. Pancake. Hmmm. That divine smell of the most delicious breakfast meal on the face of the earth. And I smell it. Somewhere.  
  
Like a bloody bloodhound, I followed the sugary smell of maple syrup and melting butter to the kitchen. Follow the kitchen. Still in my imfamous overlarged pajamas, a gift from Ron (probably forgot my birthday, and gave me his pajamas as his "present." I have great friends), I was in the shock of my life when I saw . . .  
  
Draco Malfoy in a "Kiss The Cook" apron making pancakes! Making bloody pancakes that didn't look like burnt crap that I made.  
  
That feeling of fainting right there and then in the kitchen was stabbing me in the back. But I was too damn hungry to faint, plus the pancakes smell edible. Why waste it? Well, that look on Draco's face was timeless, never in my life would I guess that the Slytherin Prince knew how to cook.  
  
"Draco, dear. Knowing you, I wouldn't even dare come near those pancakes, but that uncontrollable hunger is killing me. So can I please, please have one?"  
  
Here I am, reduced to begging like an idiot fish just for food.  
  
Pathetic, ain't it?  
  
"Hermione, dear. You're awake, I'm so glad. After you went in a fever, last night, I thought I'd lose you forever." After his profound confession of his absoulute worry over me, I laughed, I didn't know why, but I had to destroy the silence going between us since we were rather uncomfortable with his little declaration. Yet, it was like the silence still remained, the tenseness was still there. Until . . .  
  
"Sorry, Hermione, dear. I was going to offer some pancakes, but I don't think you need pancakes. What I think you need is a diet. Leave the eating to those who can afford it."  
  
"I am not fat!"  
  
The barrier of the void of comfort shattered, and the peace restored. For now.  
With that smug look on his face, I wanted to kill him, but the Dragon had what I wanted, so why not bribe him.  
  
"Okay, Malfoy. I'll give you five galleons for one pancake, plus the syrup and butter for 15 sickles."  
  
"No, way. I don't need money, I got plenty. Just follow the instructions on the apron and you get it for free."  
  
Kiss the Cook? He wants me to kiss the cook. Fine I'll follow the instructions for instant pancake. Once I faced him, still with that smug and triumphant look on his face, I gave him his "kiss" with flour smothered all over his face, making him look paler than he already is. Quickly I dived for the pancake, like a shark and his prey.  
  
And off I ran, leaving a floured "pancake" Draco and his real pancakes outwitted by the au pair once again. Until. . .  
  
Bam! Wam! Sam!  
  
A irritated Draco Malfoy still in his "Kiss the Cook" apron, tapping his irritated foot and crossing his irritated arms. For goodness sake, the apron screamed "irritated mad man."  
  
"Excuse me, miss. But you forgot to pay your fee." With delicate hands, he cupped my face into a kiss, no matter how powdery, it was still one of the renowned Draco kisses.  
Was this the way love between friends were supposed to be? Did that promise to love him (as a friend) became this intense that I actually enjoy his kisses? I was falling deeper and deeper in this little bunny hole, and I didn't even know it.  
  
D.M. POV -  
Her irresistable lips seemed sweeter than usual, not refering to the syrup, it was as if she meant the kiss. Like she loved me. That would be impossible, but I didn't hate the idea, actually I loved it.  
  
Which scared me terribly.  
  
And that's why I stopped abruptly, facing a suprised Hermione. I stared, with a face that showed utter disgust, which was the farthest thing from what I was feeling, but I could let my icy guard down when I needed it the most.  
  
"This is wrong. I want you so much, that's why I hate you, Granger." The scared expression on her beautifully sculpted face almost killed me, it showed sadness, it showed anger, but most of all, it showed pain.  
  
From the beginning I started this little charade to intimidate and hurt Potter and his friends, the only thing I wanted was to laugh proudly at her face once I seduced and hurt her. But I never planned to be seduce myself, and the funny thing was that she never intended to seduce me, it was her grace, her wit, the charm she possesed, her charasmatic glow, that brought me down to my knees.  
  
It wasn't love. One of all things it wasn't love, it was more of a deep affection for this little bunny. I could never love, a Malfoy never loves, it was a weakness.  
  
But somehow I couldn't imagine waking up day after day without knowing that his little rabbit would be sleeping soundly in the next room, or watching her from my windows as she playfully dances in the moor.  
  
But this wasn't love, it didn't exist among the walls of the manor. But neither did laughter, however somehow it crept its way into his life. Love was another matter.  
  
"Get far away from me, or I might get the urge to rape you." My back suddenly face her face, as I walked away, far away, where I could escape the essence of an angel, and brought the fat bastard's ass of my pride, where we both could sulk in our damn shameful ways.  
  
My pride had an awful lot of ass because I felt the heavy weight of it, or was it the guilty calling of my conscience.  
  
Damn conscience.  
  
H.G. POV -  
He hated me? The words seemed like a poison seething through my veins, waiting to kill me slowly and painfully. A month ago, it didn't seem anything from the ordinary. Draco Malfoy was my enemy for eight years, how would one measly month change the course of a lifetime.  
  
Because it changed, I've seen a side of the Slytherin prince that I have never thought would exist. We laughed. We smiled. We talked. We practically flirted.  
  
An amusing tinted blush appeared on my face.  
  
And most of all I shared my first intimate kisses with the man who seemed human, after all these years as a monster. Draco Malfoy made me forget the deeper than deep wounds of the past from a certain green eyed person who didn't seem to love me at all. Even when I offered what I can. My heart.  
  
That night I appeared at his doorstep, homeless and heart-broken, I never would realize that I would grow to like this man and his boisterous family. It seemed as if I never knew the real Draco Malfoy, until I opened up and melted that barrier.  
  
But the harsh words he spoke, it seemed as if that unbreakable barrier was there again. The Draco I knew in the most perfect one month was the Draco I knew of the seven years in Hogwarts. And I was back to square one.  
  
Who cares if he was a jerk all along. What does it matter to me? Malfoy can seduce all the women he wants, he is rich, charming, handsome . . . what am I thinking? Just because that rake swept me off my feet, seduced me, and left me a bumbling idiot, doesn't give any reason for me to believe that man was rich, charming, or handsome.  
  
Because there is no doubt that he is not.  
  
Draco Malfoy was perfect.  
  
I sighed in defeat, I fell deeper in his little bunny hole.  
  
Until . . . I fell in love with him. I cried for all my heart's foolish content, or rather pain, for I was helpless and in love. Those were two things that a vulnerable woman should never be in her time of need.  
  
The reason being was I didn't know if my knight in shining armor would be there to save me. No doubt in my mind that my Slytherin prince could not get himself out of his own mess.  
  
So how can I?  
  
The man I love hates me. Can it get any worse than this? Knowing my luck, it probably can.  
  
***  
  
H.G. POV -  
A few hours away to doom day, or should I say, doom night.  
  
Here I am, cowering under my bed sheets like a frightened little child afraid of the dark. Pathetic. My eyes were screaming puffy red crybaby, but the tears kept falling like a faucet without a handle. Pathetic. And the fluffy pillows that I love were soaked like Spongebob Squarepants. Pathetic.  
  
That makes three counts on the rare illness of self-pity. You know what they say, three strikes and you're out. "I'm not a bloody empire!"  
  
Good Golly Merlin! I'm driving myself insane because of a man! And not any other man, but the Slytherin Prince that I hated for so long until now! Being the big fat flirt he is, Draco probably has some beautiful, sun- kissed blonde as his bed partner. And he probaby loves her!  
  
The beautiful blonde probably is prettier, more intelligent, more regal, absoulutely more better than the mousy bookworm that I am! Why do I care? It's not like I'm green with envy, and the horrible green monster comes crawling to my side, reeking of jealousy.  
  
I am beautiful! That's the spirit! I'll march up to Draco Malfoy, and show him that I am somewhat a gorgeous person. After I dry up my tears, and off I went on the search of my Slytherin Prince.  
  
"I'm off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Hogs! Because, because, because, because of all the great deeds he done! I'm off to see-"  
  
I stop mid way to find my so called prince in a passionete lip-lock with some beautiful, sun-kissed blonde. So I was right! And the truth terribly hurts! But I was relieved in one way or the other, it proved that I couldn't possibly be in love with a player like that. Such a womanizer, he doesn't appriciate one woman and goes for a few. It's not like I was part of his life, who am I to tell him what is right.  
  
I'm just the damn nanny for his sister! Why did I fall for his charm? I realized one thing that made me stop the useless ranting and stare. Was I jealous?  
  
At that same moment, Malfoy (back to Malfoy, are we?) stopped his snog session with the life-sized barbie doll and watched as my tears fall for the third time this week. But tears come naturally when living in Malfoy Manor.  
  
"Hermione, I can explain." Explain? Explain what? That his evil ways to manipulate me was a success, and how he tore my heart and stole my pride along with it.  
  
"No, Draco. You don't have to explain. I understand that I was just another woman to play with, and I respect that."  
  
It suprised me to my greatest extent that my voice maintained that reasonable, cool tone, even when my insides was a horrible mess. I just could let him win this last battle for my dignity. I couldn't let him see me crumble to the mere sight of him with another.  
  
I was a Gryffindor.  
  
But houses didn't matter any more once I took that step into the manor, I wasn't the Gryffindor bookworm anymore, and Draco wasn't the Slytherin prince.  
  
We were "friends", or something more than that, like an intimate friendship that involved virginal touches or endless snog sessions.  
  
"That's right, you are just another woman. Dracie and I are meant to be." The annoying, high-pitched voice of this woman was like nails scratching against the friction of a chalkboard. It was a deadly siren.  
  
"Hermione! You don't understand." The nerve of this man! Deception I can withstand, but resolving to lying? What was he thinking?  
  
"I understand completely, and I'm not mad. These past months, you made me feel special and loved. But the fact will always remain, I'm just the au pair. A servant, if you will. You don't want to be with a servant. Trust me."  
  
Apart from his relentless pleading, all I can hear was my conscience demanding a refund on the price of love. Was it all true? Was I simply the au pair, and nothing more? The truth was inevitable.  
  
I, Hermione Granger, was only a lowly servant to a man I grew to love.  
  
The other truth was inevitable, as well. I love Draco Malfoy, and may never have my feeling returned. For it was obvious, he didn't love me.  
  
With the new truth found, I strolled to my grand bedroom, to get ready for the long night ahead of me.  
  
For Cinderella was going the charm her prince for only one night of bliss.  
  
Until twelve midnight.  
  
***  
  
As I gaze unknowingly towards my reflection, my eyes followed the embodiment of me, from top to bottom. Disgrunted, I sighed a heavy sigh for the lack of beauty I possess, and came to the conclusion why Draco prefered that blonde bimbo over the bookworm. Obvious, wasn't it.  
  
A rapid tapping was present against my door. It seemed as my fairy godfriend had come to pick up Cinderella for the ball. I opened the door to find an irritated blonde beauty in silver.  
  
"What took you so damn long? You are obsessed with my brother, really. It takes you forever just to impress him. Ahh. Young love." I restrained myself from hexing her like her brother, but I remained quiet, as the pair of us walked down the hall to the place of destination. Then, a hall mirror caught my attention, and out of plain curiousity, I decided to look at my reflection one more time.  
  
Of coarse, one more chance meant time. So I persuaded the frustrated Elle to leave without me. Once again, my eyes roamed to the figure fitting dress of seductive scarlet. It had no sleeve, straps, or anything special. It was a simple layered dress in red, but one that caught the eye and promised to never let go.  
  
My chocolate curls looked absoulutely delicatable in my opinion. It trailed like the Victorian falls across my waist, merely held together with a single rosebud. Giggling like a child in Christmas, I spinned around slowly, as the layers of red silk fabric and bouncy curls followed me in mid air. For the first time in my life, I declared that I was somewhat beautiful tonight, and I was going to make sure Malfoy knew that.  
  
"I am beautiful."  
  
"You really are." That voice, a baritone amist of something parellel to Draco's. The same person that haunted me for nine years, that was the reason for so many tears, the reason for throwing away my life for so long. Goosebumps trailed my body, as I closed my eyes, reminising of days that seemed like a lifetime ago.  
  
"Harry. What are you doing here?" It was the same charming, handsome Harry Potter, with the unruly mid-night dark hair and those emerald orbs that I used to love. My voice held no anger, for I can never be angry at my best friend, and once I thought we were soulmates. I thought wrong.  
  
"Malfoy's sister invited me. She thought we could use a renion." Elizabeth Malfoy! That dirty, blonde-headed prat! She doesn't know what this could do.  
  
"We don't need a renion. We don't need anything. The past is the past. I spent nine years forgetting, and I can't let you bring me the same pain I dealt again." He lifted his finger to my lips, silencing me.  
  
"Now let's enjoy the evening. We can talk about this later. Shall we?" His arm protruded, offering a gentleman's escort. What gentleman? For all I know, all men are pigs! But being Hermione, I excepted it.  
  
When we walked down the hall's entrance on staires, as if it was a page torn from Cinderella's Story, my eyes glistened with admiration for the scenary. Everything was a polished marble white, the winter wonderland in Malfoy Manor.  
  
My gaze followed every single person in this room, wearing a crisp color of winter, the lighter hues of a rainbow. And I, the flame in the snow, wore this scarlet puff, as I stood out like a sore thumb. Another reason to kill the late Ms. Malfoy. That liar told me a fabled myth that the theme was general.  
  
I could feel my face turn a pleasant hue of red. My eyes darted, left to right, looking for something, I didn't know what, but I felt I had to find something. And when I laid my eyes on him, I knew whom. Draco Malfoy, with the attached Barbie next to him as if he was some damn Ken, looking startled, bemused, and jealous? Why was he jealous? Was I?  
  
D.M. POV -  
  
Two thoughts ran through my head at once, one good, the other bad. It came to me that the image of Hermione was a sight. Dresssed in crimson, dressed to kill, this embodiment of a woman graced the hall with her beauty, one that stood from every other clone in this damn place.  
  
The curls of her earthy tendrils sprung joyfully from the little rosebud emplanted. Her eyes. Those beautiful cinnamon orbs that seduced any man into bed, but knew nothing of that matter at all. Trailing slowly to her lips, I could feel myself getting hard. All I wanted to do was kiss her away, until she merely existed.  
  
Until those lips would become swollen and plump, ready for another harvest. I wanted to devour and ravish her now. With all those luscious curves, I wanted to hear her whisper my name sweetly. For just one night. She would be mine. However I couldn't, and that made me steaming in anger and anticipation. 'Till later, my dear.  
  
My gray eyes scanned to the person next to her. To my suprise, it was the emerald-eyed devil himself. How I hated him.  
  
Potter! What is that son of a gun doing in this palace, escorting my mistress?  
  
A uncontrollable rage overwhelmed every vein in my body, and I felt that I was burning in hell. I should burn in hell after what I did to Hermione, and burn well for it. However I didn't deserve to see Scarface ruin the joy I gained and hurt her again, it was too much.  
  
Only I can hurt her, but I wouldn't. Hermione Granger was too important to me. She belongs to me only. Deep in my thought, I didn't realize that my dumb Barbie as Hermione referred to was annoyingly tugging at my arm. Until she stopped. Wierd.  
  
"You love her, don't you? Then why in hell are you just watching her get hurt again? Get her before she goes away, and then you will regret it." The sun-kissed blond spoke with words of wisdom, for the first and last time.  
  
How?  
  
"I might be as dumb and beautiful as people think. But all women know one thing: men can be so stupid." With her last words, an adieu to me, she swayed away in the sea of crowds as a siren leaves her prey, dead.  
  
I didn't love her, but there would be in no chance in hell would I let Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived-to-annoy-me, take her away. She was my laughter, my tears, my smiles, and for the first time my heart. Quickly I started to approach her, the tide of superficicial hens talking away in their expensive robes prevented me, as I lost sight of her.  
  
Blasted chickens! When I escaped the last of these fowls in disguise women, the search for seducing Hermione and screw boy Potter lead me to the massive patio. They were "talking."  
  
"Why did you come back? Why couldn't you just leave me alone? You think that you can cause me more pain to come back. Just leave, Harry, before you cause more trouble than your worth." Nice comeback, Hermione. Not what does Potter say?  
  
"I can't. I love you, Hermione. The decision I made nine years ago were wrong. I was too drunk with lust to realize that I love you. Come back to me, and leave this hellhole." At that moment all I wanted to do was tear Hermione away from Harry Fucking Potter, but I used all my self-control to not shred him to confetti. Ohh, Pretty Boy Confetti.  
  
Unwilling weak, she shook her head, as tears threatened to fall down. "You can't. My place is here now. Please. When you left me to run away with Cho was something I couldn't forget. But on our wedding night? Isn't your apology a little to late now?" Here, was my strong rabbit, pleading, weak to his defenses. It was painful to watch. His displeasing hand cupped her face and tilted her face towards his.  
  
"You don't know what you want. Come back with me now, 'Mione. I love you." Liar. Slowly, he drew her into a kiss. Like a chance in hell, I'll let him. Before Potter poisened innocence's lips, I gave him a taste of my right fist, meeting squarely with his jaw.  
  
A high-pitched scream. And a crowd was the only thing I heard and seen, except for this poor excuse for a wizard in front of me. Potter and I kept fighting until Hermione both yelled at us, teary-faced and angry.  
  
"Stop it, both of you. You ruined the whole night for everyone. Draco! Harry! Just go and leave." Out of dignity and respect, I turned my back on them, ashamed and afraid at the sight before me, where Hermione was helping that bastard with his wounds. Hey! I had wounds too, and I didn't realize that it was my heart that got scorched in the flames of hell.  
  
A rage cursed through my veins. Why was the world against me? But it wasn't against Golden Boy Potter, the boy who recieved ever single beautiful thing in the world, just because he had a blasted scar. Every beautiful person, every laugh dawned on her face. Kisses of the brunette Aphrodite was blessed to him. He took the only slice of life gifted to me by the gods. It ruined me.  
  
I was numb. Numb with emotions: hate, jealousy, remorse, and other things that meld like a melting pot of destruction. I didn't know what to do anymore. I, Draco Malfoy, was lost.  
  
H.G. POV -  
  
What the hell where they doing. Fighting like petty five-year-olds? Kneeling towards Harry and his bloody jaw, I watched my dragon walk away, with the same coldness from the very beginning, except this was just cold, pure rage.  
  
I caught a look at Harry, as he looked triumphant on a victory of the Quidditich Cup. What bloody hell does he have to look happy for?  
  
Harry Potter had not won me over, but gave me a more deeper understand of the real person in him. Potter was a despicable, dirty, wrinkly, old man (okay, maybe he wasn't an old man, but I hate him) that has an ego the size of the universe and deserve to burn in hell, while rolling a wheel up a hill and down a hill for the rest of his pathetic life, listening to Britney Fucking Spears' song "I'm A Slave For U"! (ohh, torchure!)  
  
With my fist, I gave him a hard, bruising punch. With my knee, I kill his groin. With my foot, I tripped him to the ground. "I hope you burn in hell . . . (the rest of the bad things I said) . . . you have no right to demand I come back with you because you lost that power over me when I came to this place. These people loved me and cared for me when I was that sorry excuse you left. But now, I have the courage to tell you that I hate you for screwing my life!" I gave him a last kick in the stomack as I walked out.  
  
Pansy Park-N-Slut was in the corner of the balcony, sniggering and smirking stupidly by herself next to this dirty (I mean as in perverted and filthy rich, smothered in dough) senior citizen. I stopped in front of her and smiled.  
  
"Oh, I didn't realize that you had to fuck old men juts because you're poor. Well enjoy." With that I shoved my hand to her chest, exposing handfulls of tissue, and she fell off the balacony, showered with her tissue boobs.  
  
"Opps." I left, leaving a guy who can't produce his dangerous sperm and a boobless slut. What can be better? With those, I also left me heart. The tower clock chimed midnight, and I rushed out quickly to escape my dark prince who didn't bother to chase his Cinderella, as I left my red stiletto slipper. It was no use to get it back. I was leaving, and it seemed as I was leaving forever.  
  
The night was like a twisted, screwed story of Cinderella. But the ending would be unhappily ever after, for me. I didn't deserve to love these people. I was thee Mudblood, and he, thy Slytherin Prince. Not all fairy tales come true.  
  
Packing the little luggage I own, I took the Knight Bus to get away from the chaos, away from my heart. As I watched Malfoy Manor disappear and become only a memory, I knew this was the only way. The only way to escape another heartache like Harry.  
  
"I'm sorry, Draco. I love you." Ding, ding, ding. The last chimes of the tower was heard from a distance. It was midnight, the hour of tears.  
  
Goodbye, love. 


	5. To Our Denials

Read Me - Disclamer: These characters (the lovely Hermione and the devilishly good looking Draco) do not belong to me, but the ingenius J. K. Rowlings and persistant Warner Brothers Company, only because WB will sue me (for the love of the moon goddess Selene, the sue "innocent" children) for not insisting this disclaimer is placed, informing everybody (who already knows Harry Potter is a trademark of Warner Brothers), that HP certainly does. Even though the real owner of this book series belongs to the true sorceress of words J.K Rowlings. But all the other crappy stuff belongs to me! Enjoy and don't sue.  
  
Chapter Five - To Our Denials  
  
D.M. POV -  
Days trickled by like the bittersweet dews on the Irish grass, slowly, painfully.I envied it. It had no soul, which meant it could not cry for the cold face of emptiness. In Malfoy Manor, there was no laughter, ringing out from the echoing halls, only the memories of those echoes.  
  
I couldn't bare it. So I was the same cold demeanor that tainted me for the past years, harsh and uncaring. Not even my sister would talk, only whisper that it truely was her fault. It was the castle of Briar Rose, where its inhabitants lay almost dead for eternity. Once full of life, now dead like the withered petals of the briars. What was more painful? Spending eternity without her? Or spending a second destroying my life?  
  
Fortune's fool! Why should I spend days slaving away, when this was truely her fault. If Granger was so unhappy, living in Malfoy Manor, couldn't she have left without this missing "goodbye," without reasons, without having the time to persuade her to stay. Stay forever in my arms, where the rabbit belongs. However no, she exists only in my memory, somewhere slaving herself, loving the utmost vile of creatures, Potter.  
  
Or was it I who was the vile monster, restraining the rabbit from her whims as if she was a caged bird trapped by the unexpecting fox. Damn her! Damn her from making me care. Now it seemed impossible to wake every morn, without expecting to breath in her radiant glow, to be home from business, knowing that my brunette goddess was waiting for me, like a wife.  
  
A wife. Hermione. The idea gave me a rush of pure adreniline traveling through my veins. Butterflies having a field day in summer, located in the regions of my stomach. A wife. A mistress. A companion. A possession. Nothing could sound more sweeter than knowing that she belongs to me, and only me, that no other man would touch her sugary curves and those virgin trembles. Only I.  
  
Now an impossible dream. Hermione Granger was blind to the world, a mere echo in the distance. Shit. I couldn't find her, and I wish I could. Drag her back, willing or not, make love that I hungered for since the day I've seen her, and keep her for the rest of my life.  
  
Another minute, hour, or day without her drags like forever. While I keep cool and collected in the outside, a whimpering, foolish boy cries mercilessly for something to quench his thirst of knowing compassion. I need something to save me for this inferno, but it was unretainable. I need Hermione.  
  
A shower of rain graced the manor this gray afternoon. Watching angel's tears drowning the world from heaven, I reminisce of rainy days when it seemed as if the sun wouldn't stop shining merely because she outshone the sun with her laughter. God. What was wrong with me? Was I hypnotized by her beauty that I searched the world and found nothing?  
  
Against my fingers, my blond locks lay hueless as I run my hair through them. Looking tired and well beyong my years, all I could do was watch the rain rall uneasily on the foggy windowpane. I ate nothing, I slept little, and communicated with no one. At times I forced myself to eat or drink water at the very least. However I became a mere ghost of the past, haunting the manor, with no words, but an empty expression held with anger.  
  
Damn, why did she leave? That ungrateful, little bitch couldn't realize the lifestyle I offered her. Security, wealth. What was more to give her? I thought we were content, well I thought wrong. She doesn't deserve to set her foot in the door, ever. That scam. I didn't want anything to do with this piece of scum. I could live without her.  
  
She was merely a temptress, out for my money. But now, I didn't care if Hermione Granger was simply out to get my fortune, for God's sake, let her take everything. I just don't want her to leave me. Shit. Why was a I crying? The tears felt foreign to my fingertips, like threaded silk from the delicate spider.  
  
Crap. Crying felt unusually good, its as if I didn't cry for eternity, and maybe I haven't. But all I wanted to do was cry, cry from my unbearable scars unbedded by my retched father, cry for the lonliness I'm feeling, and just cry for the fact that this ache for Hermione was driving me to the brink of insanity.  
  
The world was such an uncaring soul. I could just wither and die, but I would never cry. But I needed those silky tears, cascading against my face, I need to feel the pain leaking out from the fountain of memories in my spirit. Now, more I think of it, the more I want to cry.  
  
For merlin's sake. Was this how people were so supposed to feel when they cared for someone? Though, deep in the icy regions of my deflated, black heart, I knew it was more than care. Crap, I loved this woman more than anything. I love how the scent of her makes me happily dizzy. I love the way her lips feel so belonged in mine. I love the way her laugh seemed more than music.  
  
I loved everything about her. I love Hermione Granger with all my heart. And now, she's gone. A wisp of smoke taken by the hideous wind, just to anger me the most. What was I to do? God, the first time I loved a woman and the world decided to play a ill-mannered joke on my soul. Fuck them.  
  
I wanted to die.  
  
***  
  
D.M. POV-  
It was on that fatefully bittersweet day, that aroused more confusion in the Malfoy Household. But it was better than hearing the dreadful screams of silence. Everything was unbearably still, and it rained for the third day, causing a gray blanket over the manor.  
  
Tap. Tap. A quick rapping at the door disturbed the silence drowning the dead sunshine, it was familiar, as if that knock on the door was destined. Destined, indeed. Then some chaos was heard downstairs, hearing the loud shouts of Edward from afar. Why should he be joyful when everyone was a miserable bastard? Remind me to fire the devil.  
  
I could hear someone walk graceful, lucid step towards my room. My hands bared an aged Jack Daniels (sorry, I don't know any other drink that rich people might like, don't blame me for being naive to the rich and famous), which everyone would assume I was dead drunk. Maybe I was. I couldn't tell, my vision was blurred by images beyond my expectations.  
  
There standing seducingly was Hermione Granger, drenched in rain, flustered with her rosy cheeks and uneven breath. A sight of lustful expectations, tainted with innocence that I craved for. I could feel myself getting hard and my breath an uneven rythmn. Was I stressed, relieved, happy?  
  
Eternally content. My vow for tonight was to take her virginity now and make slow, but sure love to her, until I could here her pleading my name, asking for forgiveness for making me feel this painful but wonderful feeling. The alchohol was talking, but I knew my heart meant every word.  
  
"What'd you come back? Potter didn't have enough money, so you came back for some more? Is that it? I'm a bank? Well if you want the money, you have to work for it. I know one way." I knew I was being coldly cruel, but I didn't give a shit any more. Giving her one of the imfamous Malfoy smirk, I closed the distance between us. I could see the fear and desire in her eyes, I was almost sure she could see mine.  
  
"Draco, you've got it all wrong. I left because. . . because . . ." Poor rabbit, stuttering for her life. Yet nothing was stopping me from seducing her to my bed, tonight I would possess her forever and never letting her get away again.  
  
The distance between us become invisible as we were exceptionally against each other. "Because? Is Potter not enough for you? Boring in bed, perhaps? Well, I could show you more pleasure than that bastard could ever and then some, you will be blinded by my gift." As I said this, my finger traced her soft chin to her delicious, cherry pink lips, almost asking to be tasted.  
  
De ja vu. It was an echo of the first night, except I wasn't going to surrender her so easily. Then our lips crashed and burned into a hungery dance of the tongues, as if I lived on her lips, as if she was a life support. In a way, Hermione was. I couldn't live without her, I couldn't breathe without her. My body would a lifeless corpse living merely because my physical embodiment won't fail like my heart.  
  
A moan escaped her lips, earning a slight smile from me. I pushed her against the wall, tasting, asking, recieving. This was bliss, it was love. So this was how love feels, coarsing through your veins, leaving a satisfied aftertaste, and then mellowing to make me completely addicted to her.  
  
Oh God. The rabbit smelled divine, like peach blossoms on the waters of the sea, with the tide drowning the flower to its watery grave. Except less depressing, more lively like passionate love-making. Love was something I don't deserve, but then again, I needed to feel her in my arms. I just needed her forever more. Happily ever after.  
  
H.G. POV -  
God. My eyes couldn't take the restraint of my tears anymore, I don't think I could hold them back now. They cascaded down the curves of my cheek upon his ivory skin, across the rugged stubble and to its destination, next to his heart. Strange how destniny works.  
  
Our lips never parted, except for a quick dose of breath, as he lifted me upon the satin sheets on his bed. I knew what was coming, and I could never been happier. I felt as heaven given me a kiss, feeling the soft, circular strokes of his fingers against my skin, sending a tingle afterwards. So this was nirvana.  
  
Even if Draco didn't love me as I do. I loved him more than I could imagine possible. More than Harry. More than the world. More than education. He was what I lived on. Maybe that's why I came back. For just one blissful night to pretend to be loved by him, laying in his arms and recieving lustful passion, and then I could walk away forever and let go.  
  
The Slytherin prince deserves to be with someone better than me, a filthy mudblood.  
  
As I thought more of my depressing thoughts, I didn't realized that my tears overflowed and bled though the kisses, earning a worried look from Draco. One by one, he kissed away my unbearable tears with a kiss, baring unlimited gentleness that a butterfly envied it. Until he gave me another specatcular, soft kiss on the lips, murmering something that drove me to the near brink of insanity.  
  
"I'm sorry, Virginia. I'm terribly sorry." Virginia! He loved another, as the dragon lay against me, making love, he thought of another. I burst of unquenchable pain coarsed though my entire body until I was left numb with fear and sorrow. How could I have been so foolish? How could I have let my feelings blind me for one unforgettable night?  
  
Before Draco uttered those words that sent me to my emotional grave, we became one, that entire moment when I thought my senses was lost to the world, that I didn't care that he loved some beautiful woman named Virginia, or that this night could be our last. I didn't have a one care of the world, of the cruel, painful sword of my life, I was in love, eternally in love with Draco Malfoy.  
  
Love was such a funny thing. If I hadn't been so distracted from everything else, I would have notice my silver-haired Adonis whisper something to me as sleep lulled me to close my eyes. Until everything was dark and sleeping.  
  
D.M. POV -  
She was a sight. My gaze lingered to the infinate curls, scattered lusiously across the pillows, and her lips was curved in a sensious smile, relaxed and happy, it suprised me it was I who caused that. Don't let me start with that curveous body! (Sorry for destroying the beautiful atmosphere, but Dracie, here, got his sense of humor back)  
  
Perfectly made to please a man's arousal. Then a wave of jealousy showered my train of thought, it didn't please me at all to think that any man, except me, would ever be able to touch this untainted body. It caused me to an almost climax of rage, until I remembered that no man would be able to because Hermione was mine, and I know never to let her go.  
  
What caused me to apologize to Virginia Weasley? Oh, I remember that promise the firey vixen cursed me upon after I broke her heart, leaving her to cry for days and days. Gulit overwhelmed me. She said that one day some woman would make me fall for her one day, and then I would know how pain felt. Then I said she was a bitch for lying, and I resented it that day, as I saw her redhead disappear with a blanket of fear cast upon me.  
  
All she said was true. Virginia was always a smart woman, just not for me. But now that I found my soulmate, I have found my only hope.  
  
Upon the star and the galaxies above, I swear that the chocolated- haired Aphrodite will fall in love with me, and we would become man and wife, raising children, lots and lots, little blond and brunettes running every where, and our life will be blissfully content because she was there.  
  
The thought made me grin like an absurd madman. He would be a better father than his own, and raise a life and family to the fullest. Him, the King and Hermione, as my Queen. I chuckled, it was an amusing thought.  
  
I loved it. I loved her. Then the blasted counting sheep sand me a lullaby with Hermione's steady breathing, and my arms snaked itself around her dainty waist. If this was heaven, then I should become a goodie, little Miss Perfect. Baa. Damn sheep, I'll go to sleep already.  
  
"I love you, Hermione. I always will." Baa!  
  
***  
  
D.M. POV -  
Peaches. The pillow smelt wonderfully of peaches and french vanilla, a monsoon of recollection drowned me into thought. Of last night, of passion, of love. She was mine. However I couldn't feel her warmth, that terribly pleasurable tingle when I know she's here with me. Those rich chocolate curls were not spilt against my pillow. Nor did I wake to her glorious face.  
  
The girl was gone. Deadly misery in black came to me with his words of ending, another apocolpyse in my ring of blinding, endless light. I worried. I rushed. I knew if I didn't, I could lose her forever. That thought brought tears to my eyes as I ran across the hallaway, a trail of fast dove white and staggering behind was a comet of fallen diamonds. My damn, weak tears.  
  
Hermione. Hermione. My hoarse voice echoed across the walls, sending back a message to near to the truth. It was empty and cold, so was I. Again I called her name. Until my voice gave out, drowning in my tears, faint and wihtout hope. Falling to my knees, I gathered a breath of air, as if it was ambrosia of the heavens.  
  
Then again, I continued my search for Aphrodite. My heart was engulfed into a stir of emotions. Anger and guilt overruled love, only a blind rage was seen. How dare she leave me, a fool in love. Damn her. I needed Hermione way to much.  
  
A figure was seen from a distance. A round, stout shadow, hidden by the early morning fog. Clearly, if I wasn't so blinded by my rage, my eyes would have seen something else. Stupid, love-driven me saw Harry Potter.  
  
"How dare you come to my manor? After you stole what belongs to me and my life, showing your face around here isn't a wise choice. I suggest you leave before I kill you. Hell no, I'll kill you now. She was my world, Potter, you being a greedy bastard had to take her away from me. Can't you see I'm in pain? Can't you see my tears, Potter? I can't handle it anymore. All my life I need someone to love me, just once. Hermione did. I love her."  
  
Drenched in my tears, I took a pitiful blow that hardly even came miles before the unexpecting "Potter." She turned, revealing her true personality.  
  
A.N. - Should I stop here? Maybe I should. Naw, you guys deserve this after being so supportive.  
  
The kitchen maid, Victoria, looked with aged, compassionate eyes, it looked like pity. I hated to be pitied, so my red dragon became intimadated and attacked. "You, I knew it was you. Helping her escape the manor, leaving me a pile of misery, you planned this to hurt me. Now tell me, where is she? Fuck, where is Hermione? Does the world need to know? I love Hermione Granger! Just tell me where the fuck is the girl?"  
  
My vice grip around her fragile arms bruised her, yet her eyes remained the same motherly gaze.  
  
Taking my quivering hand, her withering one lead mine to the place where no one dared to go, until Hermione existed. My heart. "Do you know what this is, hijo? El corazon. The heart. Your heart. It was cold and imobile, until some special girl took her time to make it feel again. You are confused and scared. No one ever made you feel this way before. Si? You don't want to lose her. Follow your heart, it will lead you to what is meant to be. If love wasn't meant to be, don't die. Love her. She deserves to be loved and you, as well. Understand, one will only see a blinding, endless light. But when everything is done, all will be clear. Don't die. No el muerto hacer el corazon. The dead can't love."  
  
With her rich Spanish accent, she whispered in my ear, her breathe light and butterfly quiet. "Your love is in the garden of Eden, the one in the north wing. Love her, hijo. Just love her." She should have lied, told me that love wasn't for me. However, Victoria didn't. She said something my heart was thriving for years, to be able to love.  
  
Love her. Her words still lingered with its hopeful radiance. Love her. I ran. Without an obstacles overpassed, my legs didn't fail my passion. I couldn't lose her. Damn it.  
  
Once I reached my appointed destination, the garden of blessed Eden, there an angel was, placefully sitting on a stone bench. Hermione brushed a tender white lily against her nose, taking in its willful smell, but I knew her scent was beyond that. Closing her eyes, she took in everything, the image of absoulute serenity. I missed this. I missed her.  
  
"Hermione. What gives you the right to leave me? Was this a one night stand? Shit. God, Hermione, you don't know how much I missed you? How much I long for you when you were gone? Please don't go away. I need you." Knees quivering, more or less weaker than my tears were, both empires fell to his knees, leaving a lonely, little boy wanting someone to love him.  
  
H.G. POV -  
Draco. His name was whispered under my breath, like heaven's kiss. What have I done? I reached to this foreign little boy image my Draco percieved, kissing his tears away, lulling him to silent whimpers. A hand traced his face, every finger brushing against the limp flaxen strands with the softest touch. I love him. I love him.  
  
Yet. He loves someone else. Virginia. Who was this Virginia who capture the man I loved? Virginia would be more beautiful than I, someone who deserves him. Someone who can give him all the love I can't.  
  
The world was a cruel, hateful home we share, seemingly hating me for life. What ever feeling he thinks he feels, even when my heart is believing every lie, is unreal. Hidden by his lonliness. He deserves better than a mudblood.  
  
As my lips planted him small kisses to release him of his misery, I could feel his gaze upon me, that loving look I always desired. No! It's not real, Draco sees the woman he loves. Virginia. And I'm not Virginia. He doesn't love me.  
  
"I love you, Hermione."Gullible, naive heart of mine rejoices with glow. He loves me! He loves me! My chestnut head turns my gaze to his eyes, in surprise and delight. Finding truth in his stormy grays, but there was something else in his crystal orbs. Fear. A shiver ran through my spine, creating some wrong message to my head.  
  
God. He didn't love me. Fear belonged to insecurity, insecurity was just another form of lies. The pain was almost unbearable, I needed to think of something to save him from so many regrets. But I fear I was the one who regretted it all.  
  
"No you don't. You don't love me. Plus, I can't. . . could never love you at all. I don't love you." Lies! Deceit! This horrible, wicked world was drowning in its mighty currents, and I was yet another victim of its watery grave. At first, I saw the lost, pained expression tainted across his face, bringing me to a timeless end.  
  
Why did I hurt him so? Because it would killed him with guilt after he realizes his foolishness, admitting that love had no future for me. After that moment in time when the dragon's defences had a balm in Gilliad, he grew cold, immensely chilling that I felt another shiver across my spines, goosebumps haunting my skin underneath.  
  
His look of hate stabbed me across all the numbness implanted through my body. It was nothing like the childish dislike spilt on his face when we were adolescents, something more than hate and rage themselves.  
  
Indesribable, I couldn't gaze into his eyes, for I feel that I might not survive the absolute turmoil. I turned by face away, my limp hair shielding my view away from him. Where I knew, he couldn't see the diamonds of tears scattered against my face, pleading to be loved and loved alone. Pleading to apologize.  
  
A gap in the shield presented me with the last picture I would see of him forever. The retreating figure I called Draco was seen no more. I knew if he would turn back that look of hate, declare his love for me, and fight one more battle, I would have ignored everything and accepted the little care he feels for me.  
  
Yet he didn't. And wish I didn't speak a word and kissed him goodbye. 


	6. To Our End

Read Me - Disclamer: These characters (the lovely Hermione and the devilishly good looking Draco) do not belong to me, but the ingenius J. K. Rowlings and persistant Warner Brothers Company, only because WB will sue me (for the love of the moon goddess Selene, the sue "innocent" children) for not insisting this disclaimer is placed, informing everybody (who already knows Harry Potter is a trademark of Warner Brothers), that HP certainly does. Even though the real owner of this book series belongs to the true sorceress of words J.K Rowlings. But all the other crappy stuff belongs to me! Enjoy and don't sue.  
  
Chapter Six- To Our End  
  
The manor was a silent creature, void of the warm laughter that once found shelter from the rain. Kindred souls, of both Hermione and Draco, would still ignore the bleeding of their hearts, due to the fact of pride. Foolish pride. As Draco shadows away in the age old drink-till-you-drop facade, the other maiden that holds his heart into her hands had began to pack, ignoring the stirring refusals of leaving the place from the butler and the young mistress of the manor.  
  
Hermione's POV-  
  
"You can't leave, Hermione. You just can't. Draco would be lost without (A/N: Oh boy, here comes cliche-land. Look at the bouncing bunny. Squee.) you. He loves you."  
  
He loves you. It held out so many expectations, so many doors of pleasure, to my ears. However I knew it wasn't true. I held no claim to his heart; I didn't consume his soul as I should, as the women he loved should. At times, I would have settled for the partial affection he had for me. Virginia, he loved this one treasure . . . and I was not this girl.  
  
"Ellie, sweet Ellie. Your brother has no affection for me. I am no more than some girl he thinks would make an excellent wife. Draco loves another. I can't stand between a man and his passion; no matter how desperately I wish Fate had not tinkered with my heart. Please respect what's best. You are an extremely wonderful, talented girl, who will one day claim some man's heart and soul, completely. Then you'll know the power of rejection. Hopefully you will not feel the tugging of that particular emotion. Dear Lord, girl, I found that I love you as well, as a sister I had no pleasure in having. Please say you won't forget me. I may be leaving, but memories will sustain us, won't they?"  
  
"No, they won't. Hermione, you are too stupid to see what's in front of you! My brother, that idiot, is too blind to get what he desires. Hell! Am I the only resonable person here? I hope you're happy."  
  
With this, the vicious girl stormed out of the room, out of Hermione Granger's life. This was not how I expected to say farewell. Seeing that I could not bade adieu to the only sister I've known, I chased her out of the doors, into the garden outback. The sun has set, inviting the moon and her blanket of velvet azure into the canvas above, dimming the lantern of the world into the pearly glint of the moon.  
  
In the distance the hue of silvery blonde stood out faraway, which I assumed to be Elle.  
  
"Elizabeth Malfoy, stop scaring the wits (A/N: Now you say, "Who the hell says 'wits' anymore?" Then I respond, "The freak who wrote this story." Afterwards you say, "Ohhh.") out of me. Please, Elle, come back. It's dark, and you don't want to get lost. What will your brother say when you come up missing. Probably eaten by a werewolf. Or some frightful, blood- lust vampire. Or maybe worse, flying Bob Barkers? (A/N: Okay, I might have been a little . . . hyper and disfuntional when I wrote this, but who's not hyper and disfunctional all the time?) ELLIE!!!"  
  
The night encased the dimming light, as all was seen in the forest was the olive green branches and the exotic mysteries of the forest. With this, I knew that I had gotten myself lost, and Ellie was secure and comfortable in the warmth of the Manor. Screwed-up rabbit. Tricks are for kids.  
  
Silently, I enveloped myself in a tiny ball, hiding underneath the security of a branch, waiting for something. For the one who I had unrequited love for to rescue me like the prince in every fairy tale.  
  
"Draco . . ."  
  
Draco's POV -  
  
"Draco . . ."  
  
One familiar whisper of the wind had drawn my attention. Yet I knew it was the illusion of the trees. In the basking of the night, I, a drunk Malfoy, not the least bit sober, wandered into the forest, to escape to the place where my childhood days centered: atop a grassy cliff, overlooking the best view of the Draconis Forest, where the sun and the moon would share a caste kiss and create such a sight that would blind a corrupted man into one with values.  
  
Unfortunately, my father had no knowledge of this place, so he died the same evil, corrupted Death Eater under Voldemort's reign. Foolish idiot.  
  
Where this private spot had calmed the nerves that sent me to mental suicide more times than one. Where I can find a recollection of the pain one woman had caused me during these past few days. Hermione. Hermione. I could have given you the jewels of the sun, the pearls of the moon, and the heart of the sea. All the treasures to sustain a maiden for eternity. Is this what you want, material aspects of human hands? Would that satisfy you enough to spend life until death with me?  
  
If so, love would no longer matter, as long as you stay by my side. Forever mine, where no man would take you as I would, neither I taking another woman for you are the only one whom I love. Was sexual pleasure that only taste of Draco Malfoy you needed? If so, I would give you an eternity of endless nights, lovemaking until your breath can no longer take the blinding light . . . what will it take for one to love a Malfoy?  
  
"Draco . . . "  
  
There it whispers again, my name, like some deep longing from the soul, as if I would indeed be needed with such depth in the regions of the heart. Bewitched by the siren calling my name, I followed the sound, until I halted deep in my tracks.  
  
Such a vision, a sight, of the celestial. There, lying with the pearls of the moon staining her porcelain face, was Hermione Granger, clad in only a thin, virginal white gown . . . calling to me. Only me, once I'm through with her.  
  
With the resistance upon the forest, a shower of rain fell gracefully upon us, drenching all who it touches. So with this, I gathered the small wood nymph (sp?) in my arms, in search of shelter from the rain. If any romantic fool would observe this scene, they would gasp and sigh in wishful thinking, for the flaxen locks curled around his head and the possessive grasp around his bundle had made Draco Malfoy into the persona of some Lancelot, Rhett Butler (From Gone with the Wind), and every other heroic male fantasy that might have infatuated a woman's dreams.  
  
The only thought in his mind was to be the only one to infatuate this certain goddess's heart. With seduction. With wealth. If love cannot win her heart, then maybe material items can. Anything to possess her affections and gain full control of her heart. Before mine shatters.  
  
***  
  
The morning after, merely moments after the sun made its daily debut, causing a butterscotch glaze over all inferior to it, insouciant and pure to the sins of mortals, especially causing the flesh of Hermione Granger to appear more radiantly earthy, like the Venus de Milo in colored tints.  
  
A scent, unlike any other female creature known to me, a devilish rouge whose lain with women, barmaids and high-class daughters of society alike with their cheap reek of perfume, drew my consciousness into awakening. It was too entirely intoxicating that all I could desire was to envelope myself into her scent and die in such a content state. Never before in my meaningless existence had I felt jovial, which shouldn't be abnormal if one had lived in the shoes of an abused little boy who starved emotionally for a single praise from his father, a toper. Only sarcastic skepticism as if he was a retard who needed to be inculcated many times with violence. With such abuse, that little boy's heart entered oblivion to never return. All I wanted was an embrace, was to find that one who would express some affection, enough to remind me every morning that I could, I should wake to the morning sun and not find hatred towards myself.  
  
That I, indeed, deserved ... love.  
  
Hermione. Even her name was temptation on the tongue. In her arms, at this point in time and space, it was as if I had no return once finding paradise, a nirvana within a woman. Of course, who would desire to return to endless misery and solitary? She was my salvation, a requisite in my humanity, the reason I learn to breathe. And it was now that I realized I truly, deeply, madly love her, despite my imperfections as a human with no emotion, as a man to his family, as a son to his father. She was like a glistening oasis in my desert, the only chaste aspect that didn't spell death or oblivion. I could not live without her, yet I needed more than this unrequited love. I needed her to whisper in the early hours of the morning, in the bed we share as husband and wife, that she needed me as well, loved me, and will remain mine eternally.  
  
That never again will I sleep alone, in the riches of material life, and die amongst my greed as a bitter old man.  
  
There was passion. At first, I thought I could slate the hunger of the skin amongst the bed, that insatiable feeling of pleasure when I sing into her warmth, whimpers and moans apparent on her lips. However, lovemaking only fed to this undoused flame, never tiring of her body, causing an addiction that caused me to yearn more. More.  
  
There was love, great amounts that drowned me in emotion. I needed her protection from the hates and evils of the world, so she can maintain her chastity that is entirely her own. I needed her heart, almost demanding it for his was in her possession, a vulnerable cause indeed. Paucity in my love for her is nonexistent because it was if I could love her forever, and continue to love no less than I do now. 'Till we are old and gray, hair fallen and skin no longer taut from youth. Yet I will still think you the most beautiful woman ever lived.  
  
"If only you knew, my love. If only you could except it. Except the only thing I can offer you. Love."  
  
Never did I realize that my deepest confessions, the most sacred to my heart, was said out loud, in the presence of a very alert Hermione who held the facade of a sleeping seraph for what reason we do not know.  
  
After relishing the last hours of paradise in this antediluvian world where time is no longer, where embracing, flesh upon flesh, was not a sin, I was free to love for the first and last hours of my life. And then I brought her, carried her still figure, sleeping with the most celestial grin upon her face, through the foliage of my Mediterranean terrain, and into the imprisonment of her room, laying her in the comforts of the bed. Already, I wept at the loss of her warmth.  
  
Then my feet carried me to the one of the few places where I can find peace: in front of my dead grandmother's portrait as a young maiden, blossoming in love with the hard steel cage called my grandfather. For this, I think that's why Lucas Malfoy fell for the lower-class chambermaid; she was his salvation, as Hermione is mine, and seen through the eyes of another debonair Malfoy, his soul mate.  
  
The lighting was dim, for it was early morn, yet I could still notice every curve and dimple present on her face, maybe I merely memorized her. Such a gracious person as Laine Malfoy had spoken words that a young Draco could never comprehend, even at this age, I could not understand the meaning of her infamous advice.  
  
"My dear boy, you will never live a fulfilled life until you've loved and felt love in return. At that moment, you will find the meaning of live, why humans continue to live even when their souls demands rest. Love is an ever-powerful thing."  
  
Love. Where can I find my peace, an end to my suffering? If I could find this peace, will she allow me to savor for a bit longer, enough to live without her being? Even a memory would do. But did I want just a memory? How about forever?  
  
It was then I realize that behind the rage and insanity, I was hurt from her words, from her confessions, and from the truth. For a man-boy who lived a life where a single embrace would send him in a fit of joy, where death and deception was told instead of fairy tales, life with her was heaven. Then to hear that denial of love, it could never have pained me more than to witness death to the highest degree.  
  
The unexpected occurred. A glistening tear made a trail of hurt through my flaxen cheekbone, clumsily causing a pool to appear on my chin, and then found end when it fell to its depths on my shirt. It hurt so much, the rejection, the loss.  
  
"Draco . . . "  
  
I, tear-eyed and exhausted, turned to find a Hermione Granger, next to tears, clutching her nightgown with such power, I thought it would have torn in her hands.  
  
H.G. POV -  
  
"Draco . . . "  
  
I could not comprehend the urge, that desire that drives us to impulses leading to life and death, the line between the demented and the living. I had dared pass this partisan line because of Draco Malfoy, a man who at this moment, looked at a portrait of an anonymous, mortal goddess on her canvas, with such intensity and great love apparent in his molten eyes, it nearly brought me to my knees in wistful envy.  
  
Here was a man who loved a woman with undying devotion, despite death or otherwise, with passion and zest, someone who loved beyond human bounds, and this was why my heart belonged to him.  
  
This must be Virginia, the woman who owned his entire being: body, mind, and soul.  
  
Though my presence was made, stock-still, Draco would not attempt movement, as if he could not, and surely his passion-brimmed eyes, undoused with tears, would not fair well, for I would have given myself fully for a single glance that he held for her.  
  
(A/N: Why do I write this crap? Oh, I'm not disturbing your reading am I? Well, sor-ray!)  
  
Like an antediluvian stone statue under the debris of time and elemental abuse, his character was still, wounded, yet unfaulting. He would have been renamed as such if not for his slight eye movements.  
  
Then I questioned the obvious, knowing the truth, yet not excepting for my own sanity.  
  
"You loved her, didn't you?"  
  
What compelled me to become stupidity in human form, I could not grasp why, all that could make me as nearest to regretful contentment was his amorous proclamation, so that hope can retreat from the crevices of my heart, to watch with eyes enviously at a man who'd never love me. As a man loves a woman, as a soul mate adores his other pair.  
  
"Yes, she taught me how to love when I knew I could never. Her presence was the only salvation I knew then. When she passed away, it was as if I failed twice in finding that other human that could show affection from another human, a single touch was all I yearned for."  
  
Despite a brief hesitancy in his voice, it remained solid, unwithering. Another reason why my love for him grew deeper, roots in such depth, there was no escape.  
  
"Father, I failed with him as well. Never could I be good enough for him. I could never . . . make him happy."  
  
It was then, for the first time in his years as an overbearing pillar, he collapsed, as all things do with age and abuse, battered without strength, his back against the dim tope wall; hands mused in fists with such agonizing anguish.  
  
"Why couldn't I be good enough?"  
  
His tears compelled me to reach by his side, capturing him in a tight embrace, in some foolish attempt to relief the pains of his past. I tilted my head to plant a comforting, chaste kiss, neither passionate, but a paucity of love that I endure for him, on his right temple; my tears and his mingling into a solitary tear, a diamond of choleric fathers and the travails that a mere mortal cannot endure, to his lips, bitter.  
  
"You are. You are." A constant mantra I repeated in his ear. If only he could see what I saw . . .  
  
"Yet I wasn't enough for you. You said that night we shared had not mattered to you, that intimate bond between man and woman was nothing for you. But unless you experienced endless nights wishing for nothing more than the touch of another human being, a loveless family. Unless, you've never been the object of mockery after you've tried with all your being to achieve the impossible. Until you've been through that, never show a plaint or denial of your happiness in this house, for that night, for the many days and nights you lived among my residence, it was heaven. So please, don't."  
  
He was pleading, begging with no pride or some justice to himself, like the vulnerable toddler, his fetal position showed such childish abandon, and I merely comforted him until his disheveled appearance remained, but that look of pained horror no longer inhabited his face. Till his self-conscious could not bear the weight of his physical despair, he fled to the Land of Nod. And I continued to rock him back and forth to the end of his short, whimpering breaths.  
  
"You are more than I can deserve."  
  
The only thought I could maintain before drifting into slumber was of the martyr enveloped in my arms, and if only he could find some peace in his ill-fated life.  
  
***  
  
The sun, warm on my face, had been my alarm to escape the dreary comfort of sleep. Tinted shapes, painted from the gothic glass windows that created the promise of coveted escape from this doll house, disfigured my coloring and caused me to wake in an irritable mood.  
  
Then to my constant surprise and disdain, Draco was no where to be found; his slumbering heap not present in the binds of my arms.  
  
Frantically, I, almost desperately, called out for his name, some evidence of his existence, that this tragic pipe dream was not the cause of slumber, that Draco Malfoy was not a name, not a person, that all wasn't reality. I was Psyche, originated from the love stories of Greek Mythology, imprisoned in the House of Eros, searching for her beloved with such romantic travail, and then to be banished into her consequence after a brief, sweet glance from Eros, remorsefully in search with endless limitations for him. It was if I was she, and Draco was my Eros, the pillar of strength in which I lean towards.  
  
My search had come to a close at the prime of a grand stairway, steps escalading to the bottom, where he stood with an expression of one deep in though, who pondered as thoroughly as one who would occupy the supremacy of Athens, enthralled in the unknown beauty found through intelligence. It was an incomprehensible look upon his face, wry pursued, and then that righteous gaze found my silent figure.  
  
Eyes that showed nonsensical concupiscence engraved in those lucid, cat-like orbs; adulation, obsession, and the regretful tale of sorrow, glazed by softness, giving birth to a man who convey such a smoldering gaze like he witnessed the debut of his goddess for the very first moment, awed at her majestic beauty of within, but still it contained an eternity of memories to age the love to even a sweeter thing.  
  
I began to speak.  
  
"Draco, I--"  
  
"Come with me from Lebanon, my bride, Come with me from Lebanon."  
  
His voice, a dictatorial echo amongst the silence, speaking of a passion he known for me.  
  
"Descend from the crest of Amana, From the top of Senir, The summit of Hermom, From the lion's dens, And the mountain haunts of the leopards."  
  
It was as if I had bore an instinct to draw myself towards him, confused, yes, but enthralled, taking plight steps to the man I grown to adore, respect with ardor, and love beyond the limitations of a woman. Who could not be drawn to a flame, despite containing the knowledge of a suicidal death, of the scalding in which the flame causes, and the burning in which envelopes one into submission?  
  
Once I was mere inches away from his glorious being, when I forced my eyes to pair with his, I gasped in utter shock over the power of his transparent gaze. Emotions had taken haven in his orbs, reflecting the intensity of concupiscence, of the alacrity in love making, in the pain and suffering, the deadly game of possession, the endless mornings in where he would be the solitary person in his life, and to the end of his nights where he would nearly weep out of this enduring suffering, this death with no content end. Finally, the wolf has shed his sheep's clothing.  
  
"How beautiful you are, my darling! Oh, how beautiful!"  
  
Then a positively carnal expression had taken over the sentimentality that shown in his eyes, it was this devouring of his eyes on his prey, like consuming paradise where paradise cannot be consumed. Approaching, Draco came so entirely close, to the point I did not know where my body's length had ended and his begun. We were one, the distance no longer, and when he drew his hand to brush against my half-closed eyelids, for it was all I could have done to not cry in desperation and devotion, I knew at that moment there would never be two individuals between us, no separation, nothing but this unity between mortals.  
  
"Your eyes behind your veil are doves. Each has it's twin; Not one of them alone."  
  
Fingers traced the enticing curve of my lips, neither making immediate contact on my skin, yet so intimately near, it was as if blind men were trying to recover my apperance, memorizing every curve of my face. The sensation of his insouciant seduction caused a shiver throughout my body. There was no man who could cherish a woman more than he. No other could linger, stray on my skin, telling a tale of longing.  
  
"Your lips are like a scarlet ribbon, Your mouth lovely."  
  
"Your temples behind your veil are like the halves of a pomegranate."  
  
To Solomon's infamous love story, I felt a heated exposure on one side of my temple, as if it was trying to find the certain taste I possessed, and in satisfaction, defiled the untainted skin, the halves of a pomegranate, and caused it to whimper from the absence of his presence, almost to reply an almost desperate request for that rouge tongue.  
  
His Pyrrhic victory on the battlefield on my skin, continued over the elegant tower, her ivory neck calling wanton pleads for his touch. That he did, gracing it with lazy circles, soon replaced by his nose and lips, nuzzling for her affection, approval, anything to prove her satisfaction, and the brief brush of his textured lips on the joint in which the neck and shoulder meet as one, barely whispering of its shadow. He was painting on nature's canvas, perfecting a creation until it was called his own. With a final nuzzle of his aristocratic nose, his hands continued his sensuous expedition over the hills of his beloved, nearly drowning in the river in which lies in between the mountain of beauteous, feminine glory (her boobs, stupid! opps, sorry for destroying the poetic romance.).  
  
"Your neck is like the tower of David, Built with elegance, On it hand a thousand shields, All of them shields of warriors."  
  
"Your two breasts are like two fawns, Like twin fawns of a gazelle that browse among the lilies."  
  
Indiscreetly, as if morality was no more but the thing of a distant past, the mountains were trekked by the traveling hand, or rather lone finger who discovered nirvana in nature's amble curves, courageous beyond compare, or righteous to the most demented sense, journeys the valley of nightly pleasure and the nectar of morn. Enriched by the beauty, yet it does not join festivities to annihilate with lecherous greed. No, there was intimacy, touches that remained indefinably tender as if the beholder of such valleys were of glass herself.  
  
"Until the day breaks and the shadows flee. I will go to the mountain of myrrh and to the hill of incense."  
  
"All beautiful you are, my darling; There is no flaw in you."  
  
Hands that held calluses which could not be the possession of a worldly aristocrat ensnared mine. The febrile sensation that coursed my body, it was the heat, warmth surpassing the cold homage, the security that could never stand against the emotion and triumph of passion and love. Gentle coaxing by his fingers directed the ensnared embrace to the location of his heart, as if a heart as his could only be tamed by my own living flesh.  
  
"You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride; You have stolen my heart, with one glance of your eyes, With one jewel of your necklace.  
  
A silent climax surpassed us, with one glance of his eyes, no longer was the ambiance of tension and the awkwardness of lost words, but of comfort, the lasting serenity in a forlorn tragedy which to end, and for the birth of our forever. From the embrace of the hands, then too, he drew me in his arms, and hands were still locked, desiring the presence of each other eagerly.  
  
"How delightful is your love, my sister, than wine; And the fragrance of your perfume than any spice!"  
  
Coaxing, enticing with mimicking words of his tongue, a kiss was not merely a kiss with the man before me. I was resurrected, brought to my rebirth by this union, such a blessed one it is. And yes, Lord, milk and honey was under his tongue, the sweetness of his love could not compare to any ambrosia conjured. If lips could make love than ours . . .  
  
"Your lips drop sweetness as the honeycomb, my bride; Milk and honey are under your tongue."  
  
To the response of his act of profound devotion, affection, and depth, all I could utter was,  
  
"The Song of Solomon."  
  
"Yes, well, no other wizard, muggle, or otherwise, had the depth of Solomon's love poetry. If any other deserved such poetry, it would be you. Darling, you could never realize how much I love you."  
  
I was to respond with something, anything, but the hush of his finger impugned.  
  
"I don't want to fail again. I can't. I won't. I need your happiness to sustain mine. Man has his limitations, and you are mine. I love you. I'd die for you. I cherish you. I could not possibily continue living without you, and if I did live, I would be breathing, but not alive. Darling, you are my everything, and to see how completely dependent on you I am, it is by far the most hilarious and wonderful thing in the world to be yours."  
  
Yours. Mine.  
  
Absent for words to express the blithe hilarity, I myself drank the romantical wine of poetry, reciting the end in which he began our copious love affair.  
  
"Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth -- For your love is more delightful than wine. Pleasing is the fragrance of your perfume; Your name is perfume poured out. No wonder the maidens love you! Take me away with you-- Let us hurry. Let the king bring me into his chambers."  
  
And that, he did. The king brought me to his chambers, his name, like perfume poured out.  
  
Draco Malfoy.  
  
His love more delightful than wine. For then, I could spend lifetimes a toper of this wine, drowning in what could be my "no return."  
  
I could never be more content.  
  
THE END. 


End file.
